


Hearthkeeper of the Kindled

by sicklyandcaged



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Interracial Relationship, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Possession, Slow Burn, in this house we love and respect dorian pavus, it's the slowest burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicklyandcaged/pseuds/sicklyandcaged
Summary: Clare Vincent had only one wish in life: to help save lives. Yet when she is suddenly stolen from her world and forced into the strange land of Thedas, she finds herself stuck between the need to find a way home and help the desperate, innocent people that she could possibly help save.Lead by a strange force far greater than herself, she finds an ally and friend in a man at the center of a tragedy that shakes the world she slowly comes to call home.





	1. Hands of Fire

The day Clare Vincent ceased to exist, it stormed.

It started out gentle at first, just an angry wisp in the air. Then, a roll of thunder. Then, the rain. She'd paid it no mind, at first. She had been safe from the sudden onslaught of the storm, lounging in her favorite cafe as she studied for an upcoming exam in her nursing practice class. It was usually a quiet, quaint place, which was why she enjoyed slaving over her notes there so much. But now, as others rushed in to take refuge from the sudden storm, her focus was awry, unable to focus on the words that stared at her from her laptop screen. She didn't mind the unexpected distraction of her surroundings, despite the stress nagging her that she desperately needed to study. At least Harvey, the cafe's owner, was getting a boom in business, as people began to settle in and order hot drinks to fend away the nipping cold the rain had brought.

"Anything for you, Clare?" Casey, a young sixteen-year-old girl who worked the Wednesday afternoon shift, asked her kindly, a mug of what she presumed to be freshly brewed coffee in her hand. Clare smiled at her in response, touched she would take the time to ask her despite how busy it had suddenly gotten.

"I'd love one, thanks, Casey," she replied, moving her mug to the edge of the table so that Casey could reach it with ease. With no sign of the storm settling down anytime soon, Clare let out a small sigh and closed her laptop, swapping it out for her phone in her bag nestled at her side.

Sensing her dampened mood, Casey gives her a sympathetic smile and whispers, "Consider this one on the house. Harvey loves you, so he won't mind."

Clare, who had taken a short moment to stare out the window, snaps her eyes back to the young waitress. "Oh, thank you Casey, but I'll still pay. I don't want to take advantage." Despite her objections, Casey still shook her head. She looked as if she wants to talk more, perhaps take a small break for a few short moments, but before she can even open her mouth, a man is calling for her a few booths away, waving his hands wildly with his mug raised in her air. Clare raised an eyebrow at his impatience, but Casey only lets out a small sigh, patient as ever.

"Duty calls," she gives Clare a final cheeky wink before walking off, back at work in an instant.

As Casey walks out of her line of sight, she spends the next few moments merely staring out the window, watching as the storm forces people to hurry along, absently listening to the rain patter on the window. Despite the awful weather, the city was still as lively as ever; it's what made Clare love living in it so much.

But right now, she didn't need lively. She needed quiet.

With the stress of upcoming exams clawing at the back of her mind, she decided she'd done enough daydreaming for now. Stifling a yawn and stretching her legs under the table, she packed her phone away in a small pocket in her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stood up from the booth. Catching Casey's eye and giving a little wave of goodbye, she winds around the many people littering about the coffee shop, a group of teenagers sidestepping her to sit down at the booth she had just abandoned.

"Leaving already, Clare?" the familiar, friendly voice of Harvey asked, flashing her a winning smile as she made her way over to the counter, one of his gold teeth gleaming in the light. She'd never met a coffee shop owner to have a gold tooth; it seemed so... gangster. Once she'd built up the courage to ask him about it, and his only reply had been that it added to his charm. Harvey was strange like that; hiding behind jokes and charismatic quips.

Clare flashes him a smile in response, her eyes leaving his as she fished her purse out of her bag. "Yeah, I should get home before the storm gets bad," she replied, handing over the perfect amount of cash for her order; she'd memorized how much money she needed for her order here long ago. Harvey didn't bother counting the money, as he knew her well enough to trust her so, and simply opened the register to drop the coins inside.

A sympathetic smile flashed across Harvey's features at her reply, yet before he could open his mouth to speak, another roll of thunder sounded through the city, causing some patrons to yelp and others to jump. Clare felt goosebumps spread across her arms and the hair on her neck stand up in uneasiness. Harvey only grunted, seeming to be mildly undisturbed by the sudden noise. "Y'sure you don't want to wait it out here? It sounds like that storm's getting pretty bad, and I know you live far away and walk home."

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face at how concerned he sounded. As far as she knew, Harvey had no children, but she knew he would have made a fantastic father. "You're busy enough as it is, Harvey. I don't want to take up seats when others could be using them."

Well, that was partially true. The full truth was that she didn't want to take up any seats when others could be getting comfortable and ordering something from the menu. She'd never seen the shop so busy, with so many people ordering. She knew full well Harvey could use this sudden boom in business, as he'd once confided in her how the shop hadn't been doing so well recently. After that, she'd made sure to tip extra well when she visited every day for her usual order in the afternoon, but it was hardly enough. The sudden onslaught of customers, however, was exactly what Harvey needed. She would have felt sympathy for the staff working at the moment, as customer after customer poured in, but Harvey was a capable owner, and he trained his team well, which was more than evident by how well Casey was handling all the customers.

Harvey's frown only deepened, his concern dipping further into his features. After a few moments of what looked like deliberating, he spoke, "I'll tell you what. Go make yourself comfortable in the break room. I saw you studyin' earlier, and it's nice and quiet in there. No one will disturb you. You can do y'thing in there until this storm settles a bit. Deal?"

Clare rose an eyebrow at him, genuinely surprised by this generous offer. It didn't seem like a very good business practice to let a customer spend some time in an employee-only break room. Then again, Harvey was hardly what she would consider a traditional business owner. And she had been a loyal customer for almost two years now. "You're sure, Harvey? I don't want to intrude," she replied carefully. It was the truth, after all. She respected Harvey greatly, even considered him something akin to a father figure. The last thing she wanted to do was intrude on him.

He only gave her a boisterous laugh in response, apparently taking her words as a joke. "I trust you, Clare. Besides, there ain't anything you'd be able to steal in there. Go on and make yourself comfortable." Before she could protest any further, he was already ushering her around the counter and through a set of doors to the break room.

As he opened the doors to the room, Clare took a short moment to look around as Harvey pulled out a chair at a table for her, ever the gentleman. In all her years visiting this shop, she'd never gotten to see this part of it. The furniture was the same as what Harvey had in the shop; hardwood chairs and small tables. The shelves on the walls were lined with bits and pieces for the shop, like bags of coffee beans, a handbag which Clare assumed was Casey's, a broken kettle, and in the corner sat a chair missing a leg. The walls were decorated with what Clare recognized as metal bands, motivational pictures and a pinboard with several notes and photos - one Clare remembered being Harvey's pitbull named Spike - scattered haphazardly on it. She could hardly help the smile that lined her lips.

"Did it up myself! Then again, I did this entire place up myself, but still," Harvey said, proudly puffing out his chest. A delighted laugh escaped Clare at how boastful he sounded.

"It's great, Harvey. Its style is distinctly you," she replied, setting herself down comfortable as she fished out her laptop once again from her bag. Still unsure if she was crossing any boundaries by doing this she asked one final time, "Are you sure I'm alright to be back here?"

Harvey just shook his head at her good-naturedly. "I'm the owner, aren't I? I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to be here," he reassured, giving her a wink. "I'd love to stay and chat more, but I don't want to abandon poor Casey out there by herself. I should get back to it. You'll be alright here?"

Clare's eyes widened at his words, having momentarily forgotten how busy the shop still was. "I'm so sorry to keep you, Harvey! It's lovely here, thank you. I'll get plenty of studying done." At her reassurance, he gave her a final smile and walked off, the door creaking closed behind him.

Alone once more, Clare opened her laptop and got back to work. She was surprised at how right Harvey was; that it indeed was so quiet in here. She couldn't even hear the overbearing sound of people around her she usually enjoyed. Instead, the only noise that resounded around her was the sound of keys clicking rhythmically as she typed. No longer did the words and sentences blur together incoherently as she read to herself; now, with her focus finally returning, she was finally able to concentrate, understand and absorb her notes and readings. If she kept going at this pace, she'd be prepared for her exam in no time at all.

For a while, she was able to ignore the storm. Once every few minutes, she would hear the cries of fear of those outside as the sky rumbled, but was able to put it to the back of her mind quickly enough. Then, the cracks returned, shooting through the air in nothing short of clamorous booms. She was able to ignore that, too. A bit of thunder and lightning never scared her too much. Glancing outside the only window of the room that opened to the outside world, she briefly watched as the wind picked up, people passing by no longer to keep a hold of their umbrellas as they fell to the tyranny of the wind's strength.

Resuming her work, she tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the clenching in her gut, ignore the slight shake of her hands that caused her to mistype a word or two every few moments, tried to ignore how the hair on the back of her neck stood up in unparalleled anxiousness.

But then, the ground began to shake.

At first, she hadn't noticed it. Hadn't felt the slight quake of the ground as she idly tapped her feet against the floor. But she heard the rumbling. This time, it wasn't from the sky. No, this was a rumble from the air that surrounded her, a wisp of something that grew and festered into something darker as each second passed by. It was then that she felt the shaking; how the walls rattled around her, how the ground trembled beneath her.

She didn't give herself time to think, didn't consider that she was most likely experiencing an earthquake and needed to get under a table right now. Instead, she shot up in a panic, instantly running over to the door, almost tripping over herself, clammy fingers clutching the handle as she turned it with a fervor she didn't know she could experience. Poking her head outside, she cried out, voice trembling, "Harvey, what's going-"

She never got to finish her sentence, for the world around her erupted into an inferno.

It had all happened so fast. She registered being thrown back by a force far greater than herself, the ground shattering as it gave way to an explosion of fire, green lapping at the edges of the ground. She felt the overbearing heat swathe around her as it consumed her surroundings, heard people screaming, felt the throbbing in her head. But most of all, she heard the voice.

"Help me! Please, help me!"

For a brief moment, she thought it was Casey that called out to her, but then it truly registered. The echoes the voice left, the way it rattled her bones, the way the sound flittered around her skull, biting and desperate. She forced herself up, ignoring the burns on her palms, legs, everywhere. She gasped out in pain, instantly regretting it as the smoke filled her lungs, clogging her airways, unable to stop her sudden coughing. Listening out for the voice that had called out to her, she pushed one leg in front of the other, following those desperate cries for help.

 _Help me! You must help me!_ This time, the voice didn't reach her ears; it resounded in her skull, throbbing and beating against her head. She didn't register the broken furniture that passed by, the unconscious bodies that lay upon the floors as the flames ate away at them, the green fire that spread around the room and ate everything in its path. She only continued to force herself forward, through the flames that she could have sworn parted for her, paving the way to that voice.

And then, in the center of flames that crackled and spread in green, she was it.

A hand of green light.

Semi-transparent, reaching from the ground, flailing about as though searching for something, anything, to grasp onto. This time, something else forced her feet forward. Not her own strength, but something else, something far more powerful than her. Something that she couldn't pull away from as much as she wished she could.

_Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme-_

Words merging together in desperation, Clare extended her hand, reaching forward. She does not listen to the voice that shouts at her to run, to get out of here.

_Don'tmakemegobackdon'tmakemegoback-_

Fingers touched, and Clare grasped the stranger's hand. She does not hear her own voice anymore, does not hear her own pleas to stop, only their command.

_IwillnotgobackIwillnotgobackIwillnotgoback-_

The green flames spread around her feet, gentle and warm, enveloping her, surging up until she can't see anything but green smoke. She wants to move, to scream, to escape, to do something, but her feet are rooted to the ground, muscles trapped and unable to move. She opens her mouth to gasp, but instead, something else enters her airways, something green and full of life and-

_Thank you._

The flames swallowed her whole, and the world she once knew evaporated around her.


	2. Fingertips of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal made, a promise asking to be broken.

When she awakened, she was blinded by light and the pure _heat_  it exuded. For a few moments, her mind remained blank, only letting herself squint at the offending brightness.

Then, she truly woke up.

 _Fire, fire, **fire,**_  her mind screamed at her, instinct forcing her to let out a terrorized gasp and lurch away, her mind still trapped at Harvey's coffee shop, at how her body moved on its own, at the smell of burnt bodies, at the scorching of her own body. In her haze, she registered the feeling of cold fingers grasping her arm, and she could not stop herself from letting out a scream of terror at the contact, so loudly that it echoes off the walls.

"Silence," A voice, smooth as honey with sinister undertones unlike anything she had ever heard before, hissed at her. She squinted as the light faded away, taking the heat with it, blinking as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden darkness. Her eyes catch sight of two men standing before her. The one who held the light - which happened to be a burning  _torch_  - in front of her face was dressed in strange leathers, something akin to what one would see in a _Lord of the Rings_  movie. His face was entirely angular, with high, jutting cheekbones and a perfectly straight nose which looked like it had been broken many times, all framed by messy and short earthy brown hair which looked like it had been cut off haphazardly with a knife. His skin, a shade of dusky brown that nicely matched his hair was lined with scars, with freckles decorating underneath. His body language exuded danger and menace, a promise of death in his eyes if she so much as moved out of order. She gulped, her eyes briefly catching sight of the glint of a sword tucked away at his side. The other was a middle-aged man, scrawny and finely-dressed in robes that looked fit for some kind of fantasy noble. A slight crow's feet lined the edges of his hazel eyes which burned with barely contained impatience, his features dampened by years of age, as well as his long, dark hair littered with small lines of silver. Unlike the man beside him, he had a pale complexion, along with a neatly-trimmed beard lining his chin and upper lip. In one of his hands he held what looked like a staff, the carved wood making patterns up its spine and separating into three vicious snake heads at the top. His expression was a mixture of both fascinated delight and sinister, bushy eyebrows drawn together as a smile slowly graces his lips.

_Where the hell was she?_

She opened her mouth to speak, but only managed to get out a series of garbled half-words. The finely-dressed man just broadened his smile in delight at her apparent helplessness, edging forward as he used the tip of his staff to reach under her chin and tilt her head up towards them. "You are certainly no demon, nor a spirit. Tell me, how did you manage to fall out of the tear I created?" He asked, his voice both a mixture of calm and demanding, eyes rolling over her as he inspected every facet of her form.

She ignored his words, however, opting to search around the room for answers as to where the  _hell_  she was. Yet she was only left with more questions. Surrounded by walls of hardwood, decorated with a study and shelves lined with books, she was definitely in no hospital, let alone Harvey's shop. She briefly spotted the outline of trees outside a window, explicitly planted to match with the garden that decorated the outside of the room, ending at an iron fence. For a few moments, she watched as several people passed by, dressed in metal armor similar to what she assumed to be the man's guard, and servant's rags, heads bowed as they went about their business. That gave her one hint: that wherever she was, it certainly wasn't in Seattle.

A sudden tap on her chin startled her from her thoughts, "Speak, girl," the man commanded, his eyes glinting with a dangerous impatience. She could only manage a gulp in response.

It took her a few tries, coughing in-between, but she finally managed to wheeze out, "W-Where am I?"

The man only tilted his head, his posture remaining straight and proud. "The tenacity of you! Very well, I shall humor you," he replied, pulling his staff away from her. "You are in my estate, dear girl, just on the outskirts of Minrathous, in Tevinter. But," he paused, eyes appraising her once more, and she couldn't help but feel defenseless against his piercing eyes, "I suppose you didn't intend to come here, did you?"

Her eyes widen at his declaration, his words ringing true. She'd never heard of Tevinter or Minrathous before. This man so clearly knew more than she did, yet every time he spoke she was left with more questions than answers. "I don't understand what you're talking about," she replied, wary and uncertain.

At her words he tilts his head back and laughs, of all things, clapping his hands together in sheer excitement. "Oh, this is exciting! Spectacular!" He cried out. His sudden outburst set her further on edge, and she couldn't help but flinch away from him. But he was not so eager for her to get away, his laughter suddenly cutting off as he surged forward, bony fingers harshly gripping her chin as he inspected every detail of her face, forcing her head left and right. She squirmed in vain under his iron grip, unable to even get a coherent sentence out with how he pinched the skin of her cheeks together.

Finally letting go, his cold fingers lingered on her jawline, gently soothing the harsh red lines his fingers had left on her skin. Instantly, she turns her face away from him, petrified as the danger of this man sets in."Please, I don't understand," she managed to gasp out, feeling tears prick at her vision. "Where am I?"

Straightening up again, he only gave her another coy smile, as though he is aware of every secret she possessed. It unnerved her to the core. "You need not act coy, my dear. You are still in Thedas, worry not. I know this only a ploy. I will admit, I did not expect to find another person studying how to pass through the Fade physically." He smiles reassuringly at her; at least, she thought he was trying to be reassuring. Truthfully, it only fueled her panic further. She'd done pretty well in geography back in school, and she'd  _never_  heard of Thedas before.

"I don't understand. I've never even heard of Thedas or the Fade before!" She cried, growing more desperate by the second.

His excitement melts away at her exclamation, curiosity lining his features. "You are a mage, are you not? Unless..." He trailed off, tilting his head. Dread settled in her stomach at his sudden pause. "Unless you did not know."

"A mage?!" She screeched, mind whirling as she reached the peak of her distress.  _These people are crazy,_  she thought to herself.  _There's no other explanation._

He only continued on, unphased by her outburst. "Don't look so offended. I'll admit, 'tis rather odd that symptoms have shown so late, but alas." He shrugged, unconcerned.

"You're crazy," she accused, "Is this some kind of sick joke? If so, you got me!" She shrieked, wildly throwing her hands in the air. Her eyes frantically scanned the room once more, searching for cameras of any kind, and found her stomach dropping to the floor when she realized there weren't any.

"A joke? You think this is a jest?" He asked, furrowing his brow as offense slowly overtook his features.

She wanted to scream;  _he just didn't get it_. "Quit it with the fantasy roleplay! I just want to go home! I've never heard of a Tevinter or Thedas or wherever the hell you think we are! What's going on?" she screeched.

His frown deepened at her anger, his expression shifting into something she would call a mix between sinister and impatience. "You were the one who entered the tear in the Veil, not me, my dear. 'Tis the only way you could have landed here, after all. If anything, I should be demanding answers from you," he snapped, clearly annoyed. She felt herself gulp in nervousness, watching as the man crossed his arms over his chest. _Careful, Clare,_  she thought to herself, eyes drifting to the other man's sword that seemed too real for her comfort.  _You're not in control of the situation here._

"I- I'm sorry, sir," she replied, tone placating and gentle in a poor attempt to soothe the anger that was slowly overtaking his features. "I'm just... confused. Last I remember, I was in a coffee shop in Seattle..." At his blank look as she said the word Seattle, she questioningly continued, "Washington? America?

Slowly but surely, that ominous curiosity overtook his features once more as he pondered her words, "I have never heard these lands before. Wherever you came from, it is quite a long way from here," he replied, staring at her in a light of new interest.

His interest was the last of her concern, however. No, what truly rattled her bones was the fact that he had apparently never heard of America before.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god. This is a bad dream. Please, please, please wake up._

It was a strange thing, panic. The way it overtook one's body and mind, whirling and frantically coiling inside her. Her fingers shook, goosebumps trailing up her arms, stomach twisting angrily as her thoughts spiraled out of control. How had she gone from escaping a fire to this? What had happened to her?

"Oh  _god_ ," she breathed, looking down at her arms, palms outstretched as she scanned her body for burns. Yet there was nothing, not a single scar on her body. Nothing.

Had she gone crazy? Had the fire done something to her? Maybe she had hit her head? She wanted to believe those possibilities, for they were far more realistic than what she was currently experiencing, but she knew the reality of these people and her surroundings went beyond a delusional and deranged mind. No, whatever this was, it was no dream, no hallucination; it was  _real_. And she didn't want to accept that.

And so, with that revelation, her body did the only thing it could to escape.

She fainted.

* * *

Clare felt like there was something pounding against her temple as she awoke, blinking as a gentle light shone against her eyelids, forcing her back into consciousness. Not entirely coherent, she only laid there for a few moments, simply taking in her surroundings. Her first realization is that she was in a bedroom; certainly not her own, for the furniture was far too extravagant and medieval, for a lack of better word. The bed beneath her was plush, her body practically sinking into it in content as though she were on a cloud. A gentle breeze blew silk curtains against an open window, the scent of flowers hitting her in a pleasant rush as she yawned. In that ignorance as her mind fogged the last few hours to her, she felt… tranquil.

Of course, her moment of peace did not last forever.

The creak of a door opening startled her from her reverie, a young woman, lithe and dressed in servant's rags stepping inside. Her eyes set upon Clare the same moment she saw her, both blinking in surprise at the other's presence.

The woman snapped out of her surprise first, bowing her head in respect and setting towards her form, still comfortably lying on the bed. "You're awake, mistress. Master Elias will be most pleased," she said, her voice a gentle whisper, so much so that Clare barely even caught her words.

She only stared at her for a few moments, unsure and lost as her memories slowly returned back to her. Harvey's shop. Grasping someone's hand in the fire. Waking up in some kind of study, surrounded by two strange men. Magic, Tevinter, Thedas. And then, fainting. And now, this place. This, strange, awful, unfamiliar place that wasn't home. Which confirmed one awful, terrible thing to her.

She really wasn't dreaming. Although, deep down, she had understood the reality of her situation the moment she set eyes upon those two strange men, she had still held out hope. Held out hope that perhaps she was crazy, dreaming, hallucinating; anything but this. But now, there was no doubt.

This place, her situation, these people. They were  _real._  And right now, there was nothing she could do to escape that fact.

Realizing the woman was waiting patiently for her response, Clare cleared her throat, unsure of what she was supposed to say. "You said...  _Master_  Elias?" She asked, a frown pulling at her lips. She prayed that didn't mean what she thought it meant.

The woman's expression remained emotionless, even when facing a question laced with unbridled terror, only nodding in response. "Yes, my lady. Master Elias Villaneuva is the owner this estate, including several slaves such as myself."

 _Slaves._  This woman, barely a year older than her, was a  _slave._

She felt her stomach turn at the realization, a lump forming in her throat as nausea swept over her. This man, who would potentially decide her fate, owned slaves. And from how the servant's rags barely fit this woman's form with how skinny she was, Clare doubted he treated them very well.

_I need to get out of here._

She stepped closer, Clare pausing in her panic as she scanned her features; slender face, large doe-like eyes, freckles dusted upon tanned skin and... she gasped, catching sight of the elf ears her hair was neatly tucked behind.

"Your e _ars!_ " She couldn't stop herself from gasping out, hands covering her mouth in shock. She leaned forward, rubbing her eyes as she did so, but there they were; elf ears, pointed at the edges and drawn out, clear as day.

The only indication that the woman had heard her was the slight furrow in her brows, clearly confused. "Do they offend you, mistress? You needn't worry, Master Elias has given thought to... cutting them," she said, as though that were supposed to  _placate_  her.

Clare only managed a splutter in response, shocked that she could discuss the concept of cutting off her own ears so freely without as much as batting an eyelash. "What?! No, they don't offend me!" She cried out, shaking her head vigorously.

The woman didn't so much as blink at her. She only bowed her head once more, hunching slightly as though she were frightened. "I apologize, mistress. From your reaction, I had assumed my ears offended you. I did not mean to pass judgment so freely. Please, I beg your humble forgiveness," her words, as well as her expression, remained emotionless, even as she apologized for a fault that was never hers to begin with. Just who were these people, to make a woman hide her emotions so well, yet so fearful at the concept of someone raising their voice at them?

"Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong! I've just never, well, seen elf ears before. You are an elf, right?" Clare asked, her tone soothing as she pushed herself up and moved her body sidewards to sit at the edge of the bed, now facing the woman.

The furrow in her brow returned, obviously lost by her words. "Yes, my lady, I am an elf," she replied slowly, unsure. Clare only gave her a smile in response.

"Sorry, I just… I've never met an elf before. I never got your name?" She asked, stretching her back as it gave a satisfying pop. She could've sworn the woman winced at the sound.

"Elloril, my lady. My name is Elloril," she replied, bowing her head once more.

"Elloril," Clare tested the name on her lips, liking the way it rolled off the tongue. "That's a nice name. I'm Clare."

The woman's bewildered expression returned once more, as though she were unused to hearing compliments. "You... are most kind, mistress," was all she managed to reply with. Then, "Master Elias wishes to see you. If you would follow me..."

Clare's stomach dropped at the words, fear clutching her insides painfully as she thought of the man that had looked at her with a deranged curiosity. She debated running, trying to find a way out of the estate. But where would she go? She knew this place was somewhat guarded from seeing the man's bodyguard with a sword tucked at his side, and those similarly dressed men that lined the entrance of that iron gate around the land. She remembered seeing the meadow outside that gate, a path for what was probably carriages leading into the treeline of a forest. Even if she slipped past those guards, she was willing to bet those men were faster than her. They were guards, after all, probably trained every day to have their bodies at their peak.

Even then, where would she go? She didn't know this place -  _Thedas, wasn't it?_  - from the back of her hand, didn't know where the nearest civilization was. Didn't know what currency these people used, didn't know where she would find a place to sleep. Most importantly, she didn't know where she would find answers to the burning question that trapped her here: how did she get here, and how does she get home? The only person who may possibly answer that for her was this man, dangerous as he was. And so, she was left with no choice. She had to be cooperative, hope to get in this man's good graces, and get him to send her home.

_I need to be smart. If I'm going to survive, I need to be smart._

Realizing Elloril was waiting for her to follow, she gave the she-elf a small, yet sad smile. "Okay, Elloril," she said, standing up and squaring her shoulders. "Let's go."

* * *

The air around her was thick upon being lead into the dining room, where the man - Magister Elias Villaneuva, she reminded herself - sat at the head of a table that spread across the entire length of the room, his dutiful bodyguard - an elf too, she realized as she caught sight of the protruding pointed ears - standing behind him, waiting in the shadows for any potential threat.

"My dear, there you are. How wonderful it is that you have awakened!" His prior impatience - although Clare did not doubt it would not return soon - was now replaced by an air of childlike excitement, his eyes shining eagerly as she slowly, hesitantly, approached. "Please, do sit," he continued, gesturing to the chair on his right. Unwilling to test his patience just yet, Clare obeyed, quickly setting herself down on the cushioned furniture.

The man gave her a beaming smile, the facade of a charming and gracious host not slipping, and lifted one of his hands to the air to snap his fingers in a direction behind her. For a moment, she thought he was signifying for  _her_  to do something, and furrowed her brows in blatant confusion, yet realized it was a command to Elloril, who still remained in the room. The woman bowed respectfully to Elias at his unsaid command, slipping out of the room quickly. It was stupid, but Clare couldn't help but feel fear creep up her spine at the woman's departure, the sense of loss heavy in her mind.

"Now, let us get down to business," he said as Elloril closed the door behind her, folding his hands neatly on the table. "I trust you slept well?"

She gulped, the edge in his tone indicating what he really meant was  _are you going to faint again before I get answers?_  "I slept well. The bed was wonderful, thank you," she replied, giving him the most charming smile she could muster in this awful atmosphere.

"Wonderful," he responded, "I do hope you don't mind, my dear, but I have several questions for you. You did, after all, appear from a tear I created within the Veil." Although his words were nice enough, she saw the threat within his eyes. One way or another, he would get answers from her. She knew that much.

As if she had a choice, she gave him another fake gracious smile, clutching the tablecloth under the table as her nerves crept up on her. "Of course, sir. Please, ask away."

If he was surprised by her cooperation, he didn't show it. "I understand you are rather confused. Your reaction when you first arrived indicated as much; you did not recognize the words Thedas, Tevinter or Minrathous. Am I incorrect in saying you are perhaps… not from Thedas?"

She debated, for a moment, lying to him. But she didn't know this place at all, didn't know how this place worked, and knew that sooner or later, he would catch her out on it; she almost shuddered when she considered what the consequences would be. She had no choice but to be honest. "I am not."

He tilted his head at her, a smile spreading across his thin lips. "How fascinating. You are beyond the sea?"

She bit her lip, debating the question. Residing on telling him the full truth, she replied, "No, I think… I'm from somewhere even farther."

He only rose an eyebrow at her words, his curious facade not slipping. "Oh? Then where, do tell, are you from?"

"I…" she trailed off, unsure where to begin. "I'm from a place called Seattle, on Earth," she replied, unsure how to continue.

His expression remained puzzled. "I have never heard of those lands before. Yet you said you did not think you were even from beyond the sea. Are you saying you are from another realm like the Fade, perhaps?"

She blinked at him, surprised how accurately he had hit the nail on the head. "I think so. It's the only possibility. Where I'm from, we've explored our… er, lands, very thoroughly. There isn't a Thedas where I'm from, distant land or not," she replied, refraining from using words like planet or globe. She had no intention of explaining geography to him, not when there were more important things that needed discussing.

"Fascinating. Then you came here by magic? Yet you seemed rather... surprised when I mentioned it," he ventured, raising an eyebrow questioningly at her.

She internally sighed; from the way he said it, it sounded as though he didn't know how she got here either. "I... was hoping you knew how I got here, sir. Where I come from, magic doesn't exist. It's only a myth, a tale. Nothing more. I've never heard of the Fade before, either."

He hummed at her words, eyes glazed as he appeared deep in thought. "You say magic does not exist where you're from, but I know a fellow mage when I see one. It is... raw, untamed, but 'tis magic nonetheless," he paused for a moment, staring at her, discomfort creeping through her veins at his words. "Perhaps when you traversed through the Fade, you made that connection. Yes, that would make sense," he mumbled to himself, trailing off as he muttered more words she couldn't hear.

"I- I can't be a mage. It's not..." She trailed off, unsure how to continue. It's not right, she wanted to say. It's not natural, she wanted to scream.

"You doubt me, my dear?"

She realized her mistake all too quickly, spluttering as she watched Elias' face distort into cool anger. "It's just… I don't  _feel_  like a mage,"

He only waved his hand at her, unconcerned. "Of course you don't. You don't even understand the concept of magic. You are, after all, well… dull."

His condescending remarks ignited a fire in her, toes curling as she gripped the tablecloth beneath her with a strength she didn't know she possessed. She had been forcefully taken from her home and forced to come to the realization she was no longer in her own world under the span of twenty-four hours, and this man had the gall to call her  _stupid._  If only he knew what she went through, understood that she had burned alive in coming here. In the back of her mind, something - not her voice, she realized, but someone else's - shouted at her to calm herself, but all she saw was red, red, red -

She smelt the burning before she felt it.

She let out a gasp, terrified, as she felt the flames creep up from her hands to the tablecloth and closer to Elias, the source of her ire. She lurched back, her seat pushed to the ground as she stumbled backwards away from the heat.

Elias laughed at the display and, with a simple flick of his hand, the flames were gone, a burnt tablecloth the only evidence that anything had ever happened. "Impressive! I knew with a little push I might get a reaction out of you," he chuckled to himself. Clare, however, wasn't paying attention to him. She stared at her own hands, unburnt and unscarred, that had pushed flames from her own fingertips only moments ago. She felt herself shake, overcome with terror and nausea; what was happening to her, what was happening to her -

"Do not look so horrified, girl. 'Tis a normal thing here, magic," Elias' voice interrupted her out of her reverie, and by _god,_  did she want to throttle him, with his stupid words and this stupid place and -

"Can you send me back?"

Elias paused for a moment, perplexed at her words. "Come again?"

"Can you send me back?" This time, her words are not a rush of desperation. No, each word was punctuated with a pause between, ensuring that he registered every single word. This was all too much. Magic, elves, the Fade. All of it was too much. She wanted to go home. She needed to go home.

"No."

That one awful, dreadful word rings throughout the room, and she swears she was unable to breathe in those short few moments. "No?"

"No," he repeats once more, his eyes no longer holding their previous mirth, but cunning, calculating.

"But… you… you made that tear in the…"  _What was it called again?_   "Veil. You made that tear in the Veil. Can't you do it again?"

He laughed -  _actually laughed at her_  - and she would have allowed herself the pleasure of smiting him again, had it not been so quick to speak afterward, "You don't seem to understand the situation. Only a fool does something for free my dear, and I have no intention of being one. You are an anomaly. You claim to come from an entirely different realm, untouched by this world. And your magic," he suddenly breathed in, eyes appraising her, and she could've sworn she felt something, almost like an invisible hand, stroke a finger down her cheek, seeping into her pores, "Your magic is unlike anything I have seen. I would much like to study you further."

She felt herself shake at his words, anger and fury pulsating through her blood. "I'm not your experiment!" She realized her mistake too late once more, as his expression turned dark, raising a brow in question as though daring her to continue.

She gulped at the warning. This time, she thought her words through. "I mean… can't we come to some kind of deal? My cooperation for a way to get me home?"

He only hummed in contemplation, his hand coming up to stroke his neatly trimmed beard. "Yes, I suppose it could be done…" For what felt like an eternity, he only sat there, considering, clearly deep in thought, until finally, he turned to her once more, a glint of victory in his eye. "Very well, girl. I will do you a deal: Train under me and become my apprentice, and I will work towards finding you a way home. In the meantime, you and your magic will serve me and me alone."

She knew, deep down, there was a lot that could go wrong in making a deal with this man; this dangerous man, who was truly in control of her situation, who held her life in his hands. But what choice did she have? She could try to negotiate with him, but really, she knew this was likely the best she would get out of him. This was his estate, his world, his magic, after all; she had no sway over him. She knew nothing, had nothing. 

_I don't have a choice._

The thought hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

"Well?"

Her head snaps back up to attention at the sound of Elias' voice, his impatient expression indication enough that she had to make a decision now. Briefly, her eyes flickered to the elven man standing guard behind him, the very same who had also been in the room when Clare made her first appearance. His face remained expressionless, void of any emotion, but his  _eyes_... they conveyed everything. Pity and curiosity swirled around those chestnut orbs, and in those final moments as a free woman, Clare felt some kind of kinship to a person whose name she didn't even know.

"Okay," she finally replied, "It's a deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was actually super stuck on this chapter, but thats ok! i got there in the end. also, i'm on tumblr if you're interested. come talk to me at vhenaan


	3. Dream of Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What lurks beneath the mask, she wonders.

The moment she uttered the words of acceptance, she knew she'd sealed her fate.

Elias' smile was sickly sweet at her consent, the taste of his victory clearly something he savored. "Wonderful," he practically purred at her, "You will make a fine apprentice, my dear."

Her skin crawled at his words, how they rolled off his tongue so easily. She couldn't fathom any words to respond, her tongue tied as horror set in at what she had done, opting to instead stare at her hands, wrung upon her lap. Her heart hammered in her ears, fingers shaking as she wondered what would now become of her; Elias had been awfully vague when describing how she and her newly discovered magic - she still had a hard time believing it existed, despite setting the tablecloth on fire with nothing but her hands only moments ago - would serve him and his unnamed master. Which raised another question: who did he answer to, and was he more dangerous than the man that sat across from her?

"Forgive my manners, my dear. It seems in all the excitement, I never quite got your name."

Anyone else would have thought Elias was a polite, well-educated man if they had just met him. But as Clare stared at him, gut coiling and instinct screaming to get away, with his brow raised as he patiently awaited her answer, she knew there something very, very wrong.

"Clare," she replied meekly. "My name's Clare Vincent."

"Clare," he repeats, stretching each syllable out in a way that makes her want to squeeze her eyes shut and try to wake up from this absolute nightmare. "'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Clare. My name is Elias Villaneuva, magister of the Tevinter Imperium."

She debated asking with on earth the Tevinter Imperium is, but refrains, unwilling to give him reason to prolong this conversation. All she wants is to get out of this room, away from this man, get her thoughts together, and figure out what the hell she was going to do from here on out. He waved his hand at her lack of response, surprisingly not offended. Instead, he simply snapped his fingers commandingly, an unspoken call. Almost instantly, his elven bodyguard was at his side, vigilant as ever. "Take my apprentice to her new guest quarters in the right wing. Return to me after."

He straightened at Elias' words, not in a way that indicated that he hadn't been listening, for his eyes had been attentive during every second of Clare and Elias' conversation, bowing low at the command. "Yes, master," he replied, his voice strong yet strangely placid, almost… strained. Elias did not deign him with a response, merely waving his hand once more as the detached man made his way over to her seat, walking past her without pause. Understanding his indirect dismissal, she quickly rose from her seat, unsure for a moment if she were supposed to bow or something else, yet decided against it when Elias turned away from her, shifting his attention to a window on his left window. Eager to get away, she scurried off, following after her escort.

"Clare?" Elias' call gave her pause by the doorway, turning to see him now standing by the windowsill, hands clasped behind his back as he appeared deep in thought. He didn't even look at her when he continued, "Do not disappoint me."

Clare might have been entirely foreign to this man and his home, but she wasn't entirely oblivious. It was a threat, plain and simple. The first time he had let his pleasant mask slip, allowed her to see the danger that lurked beneath his sickly sweet smiles and sinister eyes.

She could only gulp. "I won't," she managed to reply. He only hummed at her words, clearly not believing her. Not yet.

"We'll see," was all he said. And with that, Clare practically bolted out of the door, not giving him another chance to try and call after her.

She caught her escort at the end of the hallway, clearly waiting for her to catch up. The pair continued on in silence, neither making an effort for conversation. Days ago, Clare would be panicking at the awkwardness of this situation, grasping at things to talk about. Now, she was just hoping she didn't anger anyone in this world into killing her before she found herself a way home.

Unwilling to allow herself to linger on those thoughts any longer, she threw caution in the wind for just a moment, and decided to risk trying to speak to her escort. "So, uh…" she began, unsure of herself. "This is the second time we've met and I still don't know your name."

Unlike Elloril, who had been shocked and even suspicious that Clare had even asked for her name, this man did not so much as blink. He doesn't bother to pause in walking, not sparing her a glance. Unsure if he heard her or not, she remains silent. Just when she thought he wasn't going to reply, his voice rings through the hallway, "My name is unimportant, my lady."

She can't help but let out a snort of indignation at his use of the words my lady, momentarily forgetting her panic in favor of amusement in being called such a medieval title. "I'm not a lady. And I still want to know your name, even if you think it's not important."

Her insistence didn't sway him in the slightest. "You are my master's apprentice now. You are a lady now," he replies, without missing a beat, as though that explained everything she needed to know.

"That still doesn't tell me your name," she replied, yet he still gave her no answer. He only continued on, not even annoyed or disgruntled by her insistent pestering.

_Of course he wouldn't get annoyed. He's a slave. He'd probably get beat for so much as getting annoyed,_  a cruel voice in the back of her mind sneered, a harsh reminder of how awful this place was. And she was stuck right in the middle of it.

The pair remained walking for a few more minutes, Clare not bothering to try and get him to speak again. Instead, she focused her attention on the landscape that stretched past the windows where the afternoon sun slowly made its way under the horizon, idly thinking to herself. She was rather good at it, after all; thinking about everything and nothing. And now, trapped in this place and forced to study magic, of all things, under who she suspected to be a slightly deranged man, she had much to think about.

"We are here," the stranger's voice pulls her from her thoughts, pausing in front of a door. Job done, he turns to her, bowing low at the waist. She only stared at the sudden display, unsure what to say in reply, yet he doesn't even give her the chance to, turning on his heel and walking away.

"W- Wait!" Clare calls, uncertainty lacing her tone. The man stopped in his tracks, but does not look over his shoulder to meet her gaze. She lets out a sigh at that. "Thank you."

These people might not be used to being on the receiving end of human decency, but for as long as Clare was here, she was going to show them every ounce of kindness she could possibly give.

It was the very least she could do.

"... You are welcome, my lady," he said after a pause, continuing on.

She does not hesitate to enter her room after that, eyes appraising the suite. It was far more luxurious than the previous room she'd been sleeping in, not that she particularly minded. Elias could have made her sleep in a barn for all she cared, as long as he came through on his promise to send her home after she did whatever magic hocus-pocus he needed her to do.

Now in the safety of nothing but her own company, her mind whirled at everything she had just experienced. As she fell on her plush bed in a heap, staring at the canopy, she allowed herself to finally absorb everything that had just happened to her in only the span of a few hours.

First, she had somehow been transported to a strange, fantasy realm.

Second, she possessed magic, of all things, that she didn't understand how to use.

Third, she had made a deal with a man who owned slaves, that consisted of… what were his words again? Her magic and she serving him and his master, and in the meantime, he would look into finding a way home for her.

She closed her eyes at her own stupidity, running a hand down her face. What told her he didn't already know how to send her home, and was simply hiding it from her? It was a very plausible possibility. What was stopping him from just… hiding that vital piece of information from her, until she gave him whatever the hell he wanted? Because he very clearly wanted something from her, otherwise he wouldn't have asked her to serve him, right? He had asked her and her magic to serve him, so did that mean it had something to do with the magic? God, she was so lost, so confused, and couldn't even begin to understand just what she had gotten herself into. She could only comfort herself in the fact that Elias would probably have not budged if she tried to push her luck; knew he was likely only using her for his own needs. She was screwed.

_She wanted to go home._

She would not give anyone, let alone Elias, the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Here, in this room, alone and isolated, she allowed herself the release as her tears finally sprung at her eyes, flowing endlessly down her cheeks. She had to be strong. To survive in this place, every action watched by this dangerous, very possibly cruel man, she had to be strong. Could not allow herself to break outside these walls. But here, in this small sanctuary, she would allow herself release.

She did not sleep that night, only stained the pillow with her never-ending tears.

* * *

_She was in the coffee shop, alone, sitting at her usual booth. Harvey and Casey were nowhere to be found, the shop void of both staff and customers. Normally in dreams, one thought they were experiencing the waking world, only to understand they were dreaming until they actually woke up. Yet this was… different. She felt entirely conscious in this place, connected with her surroundings and thoughts. She knew, for the first time, that this wasn't real; merely a dream. But it was a comfort, one she desperately needed. For a long moment, Clare only sat there, allowing herself to bask in the illusion, convincing herself that she was back home and not in some strange fantasy land._

_Of course, all illusions had to be broken eventually._

_"Ir abelas, da'lin. Ar din elvar'nas sul min to gara."_

_A whisper, foreign yet familiar, forced her to open her eyes and turn to the direction of the noise, startled at the sight of a misty-green figure greeting her. Its voice was weak, as though the only thing holding it together was an old, withered rope. It was a faceless being, humanoid in nature, even if its form was one of translucent emerald mist that lilted in the air, shaping itself as a silhouette of a person. Yet despite its lack of features, one part of it was perfectly shaped, not a single speck of smoke out of place: its left hand, delicate and feminine._

_Exactly like the hand that had pulled her into that fire._

_Realization finally hitting her full-force, Clare gasped, a scream ripping its way through her throat as she pushes herself away from the being, finally registering that it was the same voice that had called out to her back then, back when she had-_

_"Get away from me!" Clare screamed, falling out of the booth in her desperation to put as much distance between them as possible. Despite it having no face, she could somehow feel the waves of guilt and sadness that exuded from it. It only made her more afraid._

_It did not bother to chase her, or even attempt to approach. "I... apologize, I forgot for a moment humans spoke in this tongue," it continued, sounding almost apologetic despite how frail its voice sounded, slowly, hesitantly, flowing to her as Clare paused in her attempt to break away, conflicted as she debated throwing caution in the wind, even for a moment, to demand answers from it._

_Her curiosity won out. "Who are you?! Are you the thing that pulled me through the green fire?!" The demands poured from her mouth in an unapologetic heap, casting her questions at the strange wraith-like thing that she was almost certain was responsible for everything that had happened to her._

_It did not seem offended by her onslaught of questions. If anything, Clare could've sworn she heard a feeble chuckle fall from its misty lips. "Yes, it was I who brought you here. What I am is... unimportant. All that matters is you understand that I am your ally," it spoke, shifting as it made its way towards Clare's form, who didn't dare move at it twirled around her, as though inspecting every facet of her form. "You gave me my freedom, lethallan."_

_Clare's confusion surged in the perplexity of the being's words. "What? I don't understand-"_

_A weak giggle, surprisingly girlish, met her ears. "Of course you don't. Humans were always such clueless creatures. It seems it is a trait that runs across realms," Clare frowned at the blatant insult, opening her mouth to argue back, but the creature only continued on, unconcerned with her offense. "Alas, we are connected now, you and I. Two souls attached to one body."_

_Clare choked on whatever words she was going to say next, finding herself frozen in both fear and confusion at the phrase. She so desperately wanted to understand, needed to understand, yet every time she spoke only lead to more mysteries than answers._

_"Please, I don't understand…"_

_Finally, it paused, seeming to finally register her despair at her own cluelessness. "You will not for a long time, lethallan. It is my fault you are here, but… I will not apologize for pulling you through that tear. I would explain, but it is too much for only one night. Heed my words: let the magister teach you, but remain cautious. He only wishes to use you," It spat the word magister out as though it were dirt stuck between its teeth, nonexistent as they were. "You already know it was my hand you grasped back in your own world. We are tied together now, you and I. You can trust me, because to endanger you would endanger myself. I am content to watch through your eyes. You are a... curious creature."_

_Tied together? Those words didn't bode well with Clare. "Are you a ghost? Did you possess me?" She knew she was grasping at straws, but she needed answers. She couldn't explain why, even to herself, but she found herself... trusting this being, despite the absurdity of its answers. Trusted its words, despite it being responsible for her position here. She didn't know why, and it made her want to pull her own hair out._

_"Possession would imply I have the ability to control you, which I do not. A soul cannot be forced upon a living body."_

_Her words were cryptic, yet… strangely comforting. She opened her mouth to speak further, yet the being suddenly gasped out in pain, green specks flickering across its form as it reached up to clutch its head, groaning. Clare's eyes widened in surprise, something like concern coiling in her gut, yet before she could even ask if it was alright, the being spoke, "I weaken. I used much of my remaining power to bring you here, and so, I must rest. Heed my words, lethallan: do not trust the Magister. I can only protect you inside the Fade... it is up to you to guard yourself when you wake," it managed to get out, its voice becoming weaker by the second._

_Clare had so many questions. Fade? Protecting her? She was so lost, so confused, in desperate need of answers, yet this encounter had only left her with more questions. Refusing to give up just yet, she blurted out, "Wait, I have questions-"_

_Yet she never got to ask them, for in that moment, she woke up._

* * *

Waking up the morning after was not a pleasant affair.

Her eyes were an uncanny mix of puffy and itchy from her hours of crying the night before, throat raw from wailing. She groaned at the discomfort of it all, turning over as she felt the sun against her eyelids, burying her face in the pillow.

"Good morning, my lady," A voice, gentle yet tinged with an edge of fear, welcomed her back to the land of the living.

"Mornin', Elloril," Clare greeted, sitting up and stretching as a yawn escaped her lips. She had never been much of a morning person, even with a coffee.

"Master Elias wishes for you to meet him in the library to begin your studies, my lady. I am to be your handmaiden during your stay here," the elvish woman continued, placing a silver tray in her lap, the sight of several fresh fruits along with bread and cheese greeting her. Her mouth almost watered, her stomach giving an angry rumble when she realized she hadn't eaten last night.

"Oh, thank you!" Clare smiled, not hesitating to dig in. The elvish woman bowed in response, an action that she missed, standing back to the wall, patiently waiting for Clare to finish her morning meal.

She was halfway through eating when a thought occurred to her. "Elloril," she began, the elvish woman immediately standing at attention, "When's the last time you ate?"

The question startled the slave, whose eyes glanced down at Clare's plate, tongue darting out to hungrily lick her chapped lips; an action she didn't miss. "We are permitted to eat the scraps from Master Elias' dinner, miss."

We, as in the rest of the slaves. She prayed Elias had extravagant, five-course meals, yet from how skinny Elloril was, she doubted that very much.

"Come sit with me," Clare invited, scooting over and patting the spot next to her. The elvish woman hesitated, expression guarded, but she wouldn't dare disobey a direct order from Elias' new, unfamiliar ward. Slowly sitting herself down next to Clare, posture stiff, she awaited whatever possible torture awaited her. She had heard stories of particularly cruel magisters taunting their slaves by forcing them to watch as their masters ate extravagant meals while they were on the brink of starvation. Clare had been kind to her the previous day, but she knew better than most slaves that their masters were easily subject to dreadful, violent mood swings, being owned by one such as Elias.

"Here, have some," Clare suggested, delicately picking up the tray, careful not to spill any of the food, and placing it upon Elloril's lap.

It clearly had been the last thing the slave had expected.

The elvish woman, however, remained afraid, "Oh, mistress, I could never-"

"Please, Elloril. I'm full anyway!" Well, that wasn't entirely the truth. She was still a bit hungry, but there was no way she was going to let this woman, who was little more than skin and bones, go hungry for another day. "It's really good. I promise I'm not playing a joke on you or anything."

How mistreated did these people have to be to flinch away, deathly afraid, from an act of kindness? It made Clare's heart hurt, to see something so awful such as real-life slavery right in front of her as she remained powerless to really help do anything about it.

"You are most kind, my lady, but the food is yours," Elloril deflected, attempting to push the tray back onto her lap, but she didn't budge.

"And I'm giving it to you now!" Clare chirped. Then, as an afterthought, she sighed, adding, "Please, don't be afraid of me. I want you to have some. If you really don't feel comfortable eating it, then would you take it down to the others and ask them if they want it?"

A silence stretched between the two, Elloril's eyes untrusting while Clare's remained hopeful. Finally, the elvish woman tilted her head, seeming to allow herself to speak what seemed to be troubling her, "You… I had heard whispers that you were not from this place, that Master Elias… took you from the Fade."

Clare thought about her next words carefully. Had Elias sent this woman to try and get information out of her? Despite those warnings in the back of her mind, her crippling loneliness and trust forced her to throw caution in the wind, giving a nod at her words. Of course she'd know; the servants and slaves were undoubtedly a tight-knit bunch. "Yeah, it's true. I'm… not from here. My home is a long way away. Elias promised to send me back if I... served him," she replied, shifting from her spot on the bed. Her next words were careful, spoken gently. "We... don't have slavery where I live."  _I'm not like Elias,_ is that she really wanted to say.

Elloril's brows raised to her hairline, clearly shocked such a place existed. "I see," she responded, not daring to say anything further; she wouldn't dream of speaking out against the practice that bound her to this estate, the man that could kill her without any repercussions whatsoever.

"So, please believe me when I say I just want to help you," Clare continued, nudging the food in her direction.

Several emotions passed across the elf's face. Confusion, apprehension, and finally, acceptance. Fingers shaking, she gently plucked a grape from the neatly-arranged fruit pile; the smallest thing on the plate. Fast as a bird, she plopped it in her mouth, chewing quickly. When Clare made no move to stop her, to rip the bowl from her grasp and exclaim that it was, in fact, a trick, she slowly reached for another. Soon, she had finished the whole bowl of fruit. Yet instead of eating the bread next, she neatly tore it into small chunks, hiding it away in her pockets.

Clare could only frown at that. "You don't need to ration it, Elloril. I'm going to keep sharing my meals with you," she explained, to which the woman paused, a confused expression casting over her face.

"I apologize, my lady. I... thought I would take some food with me for the younger ones. Is that alright?"

Her throat constricted painfully at her words. Younger ones, which undoubtedly meant children. Elias had children slaves.

She forced herself to blink the tears away, unwilling to break down here.  _Strong,_  she thought to herself.  _She had to be strong_. "Of course it's alright, Elloril," she managed to get out.

For the first time, the elvish woman smiled; a true smile, one of genuine happiness, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Shaking her head, she stood up, making her way over to the wardrobe. "Come, my lady. I must get you ready. Master Elias is not a patient man."

They spent the next few minutes getting Clare ready, Elloril dressing her in intricate robes that seemed fit for a noble, the fabric gentle across her pale skin. It was as Elloril was lacing up her intricate robes from behind the young woman as she leaned forward, so close that her lips nearly grazed her ear. Clare jumped at her sudden closeness, breath caught in her throat, yet didn't make a sound. "My lady… no human has ever shown me kindness as you did this morning, so I will tell you this as a way of thanks: to survive in this place, do as Master Elias says. No matter what," Elloril pauses for a moment, seemingly debating whether or not to say her next words. With a small sigh, one of resignation, she whispers so quietly Clare almost didn't catch it, "He is not as kind as he makes himself out to be."

Clare gulped at her warning, her throat seizing up in unparalleled fear. She hadn't trusted Elias from the start, her gut screaming at her that something wasn't quite right, but hearing her fears confirmed, knowing she was about to walk into the devil's den… God, how had this happened to her?

"Thank you for telling me," she breathed, unable to say anything more.

Elloril, seeming to understand, only nodded. "Just be obedient."

Obedient. Clare could do obedient. "Okay."

All too soon, the pair had to leave the safety of the room, Elloril slowly leading the way to the library. As they walked, the words the strange being had uttered to her stayed within the back of her mind.  _Do not trust the magister._  It wasn't necessarily a warning she needed, because even she, as out of place and new to this world as she was, could see the leash Elias kept on himself, clearly wishing for some part of himself to remain hidden. She wouldn't lie to herself; she didn't know whether to give the dream merit or not. It was, after all, just a dream. What startled her was that she remembered everything. Every detail of the wisp-like creature that spoke to her, of the words it spoke, she recalled in perfect clarity. Like a memory that didn't fade. Perhaps it had been her own subconscious talking to her, warning her of the obvious dangers to heed? Had she made that creature up within her dream because she was desperate for answers? Even with those deprecating thoughts, she refused to dismiss it just yet; if she could be transported to a world where magic was real, she certainly didn't have a choice but to carefully consider everything she thought she knew.

"My lady," Elloril's voice broke her out of her reverie, bowing low at the waist when Clare shifted her eyes to her. They had paused at a large set of doors, a foreboding gateway as she realized who awaited her through them.

She cleared her throat, not quite ready to go in just yet. "It's through there?"

A hint of a reassuring smile caught upon the elvish woman's lips, but she smothered it before it could go any further. "Yes, my lady. Master Elias is waiting for you."

"Thank you," Clare said gently, quietly enough so that no one could hear her. Elloril simply gave her a nod and bowed once more, dismissing herself as she turned on her heel and walked away.

Clare couldn't help the sigh that escaped her lips at seeing her new and only ally walk away. It was just her now, about to jump headfirst into the devil's den.

For now, all she could do was use everything in her power to master her… magic, and become skillful enough at it that she could give whatever Elias wanted as soon as possible, and hope he would come through on his end of the bargain. Steeling herself, she straightened her posture and lifted her hand to the door, giving it a gentle knock. Not waiting for Elias' permission, she opened the door, peeking inside for her tutor. Her eyes quickly swept over the room, shocked at the shelves upon shelves that held books, tomes, and scrolls. She'd never seen anything quite like it through her own eyes before; only in movies and fantasy artworks.

"Ah, you've arrived! I was about to send someone to look for you," Elias' voice rang throughout the library, advancing to her form that lingered near the doorway. He smirked as she slowly approached, seeming satisfied at what Elloril had dressed her in. "I trust you are ready for your first lesson?"

_I'm ready to go home_ , she thought to herself, but bit her tongue before the words could come tumbling out. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he replied, drawing out the word as he lead her towards a hardwood table at the center of the room. Pulling out a leather-bound book from under his arm, he carefully placed it on the surface, specks of dust fluttering off its cover.

"Tell me, dear apprentice, can you read these words?" Elias asked, opening the book to a random page and tilting it towards her. She squinted at the pages, every individual letter the same height, all lined edges and no curves. As she stared at it, she vaguely recalled her high school lessons in ancient history, and realized the language resembled Archaic Latin.

"No," she replied, "I can't. Is that your common language?"

He seemed… pleased by her admission. She had expected him to be angry at the setback in her learning process, yet instead, he showed the opposite reaction at the hindrance. She didn't have the time to wonder why, as he quickly set to talking again.

"It is the common tongue, also referred as the King's Tongue or Trade tongue. If you cannot read it, I will teach you by words alone," he said, pushing the book to the side.

He did not give her the opportunity to speak or ask questions, instead heading straight into his lesson. "Now, the first thing you must understand about magic is this: it is the greatest gift one can be given," he began. "Since you are entirely unfamiliar with magic, I will start from the beginning. Conventional magic originates from the Fade, where both spirits and demons dwell, and also where the living visit when they dream. Mages have a certain affinity… connection, if you will, to the Fade, in which they are able to channel energy from it. Within the Fade, a person's surroundings can be reshaped by those who have grasped its nature, so mages have the ability to do this within the waking world."

And so began her first lesson, stretching on for hours on end. Clare absorbed every word of it, more afraid of upsetting Elias than an eagerness to learn, only interjecting during drawn-out pauses when the questions burned within her. Is magic genetic? Were specific people more adept at it than others? How many schools of magic were there? He answered each vaguely, not allowing room for details before he moved onto his next subject.

It was upon his elaboration of the Fade that she became skeptical, the mention of demons a concept she couldn't quite believe. "You said…  _demons_?"

He sensed her skepticism, a disapproving frown stretching at his lips. "Yes,  _demons_. They are malicious spirits that usually embody negative emotions, and crave to join the living through the act of possession. They are a cause for caution for untrained mages, but you should not allow fear to control yourself; they feed off of such emotions. They are not so terrifying as the barbarians in the south make them out to be. They are simply useful tools to extend your power if you know how to safely interact with them; they are no cause for fear, as we mages are far more powerful than such things."

His explanation on how to handle spirits and demons stretched on for another few hours, emphasizing the significance of how to interact with them, and understanding that the two were incredibly different. At first, the concept of such beings terrified her; an entity that could invade her dreams as she slept, overpower her and possess her, turning her into an… abomination, as Elias had called it, was plenty enough reason for caution. For a moment, she had feared that the thing that had spoken to her in her dream the night before was such a thing, yet quickly dismissed the suspicion when Elias went on to explain that abominations transformed their host into an unrecognizable monster. While it was a terrifying concept, Elias assured her it was incredibly easy to avoid such a fate, and quickly went on to teach her how to avoid such a thing. Wards, spells, incantations, advise on how to safely converse with spirits and demons without risking oneself. Demons fed off of the negative emotion it embodied; desire, despair, envy, pride… one could generally tell if it was a demon if it aimed at making a deal with the mortal it interacted with, intending to lead to possession one way or another. While spirits sought to help or understand mortals for their own purpose, demons sought to consume, possess. An easy concept to grasp, really.

It was so much information, yet she absorbed every word out of sheer necessity, out of fear of Elias' wrath if she dared to deflect her attention to anything else but him. It was the type of teacher he was, she quickly learned. Impatient, unforgiving, and incredibly strict. She hadn't really expected anything less from him; it suited his character rather well.

It was as the sun spilled past the library's shelves and into their small sanctuary that marked the coming of the afternoon when Elias finally ended their lesson. Clare had always prided herself on being a rather dutiful student, a person who enjoyed learning, but even she felt the familiar strain of being overwhelmed with information she had been so accustomed to experiencing back in high school, desperate to raise her grades enough to score a scholarship. Even so, as she followed Elias' lead and stood up from her chair, she didn't dare complain. Didn't dare say anything that could induce his anger.

"I have my business to attend to, my apprentice. You may go anywhere you wish inside the estate except the left wing; that is a rather… private area, if you will. I'm sure you understand," he said, sparing her a short glance, daring her to question him. When she made no move to, he continued, "Ah, I almost forgot. I have a gift for you. A… welcoming present."

Clare instantly opened her mouth to object, not entirely willing to accept anything from him if it meant he could potentially use it against her in the future. Yet before she could even force the words out, he had already lifted his staff and gently tapped it against the floor once, then twice. At the unspoken signal, the library door opened, her escort from the night before making his way inside, respectfully falling to his knees at Elias' feet. It made Clare sick, seeing such an act of obedience which was born from slavery.

"I'm sure you remember my bodyguard, Voss, yes?" Elias asked, interrupting her from her thoughts.

She didn't dare let her eyes flicker to him, didn't dare let him even see just how horrified she was at the sight of the leather collar around the man's neck.  _Voss_. His name was Voss. This isn't how she wanted to formally meet him. She had wanted him to give her his name himself, not be introduced by Elias like some kind of pet. "I… yes, I remember."

He clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. "Good! Because from this day forth, he is yours."

Clare didn't even try to hide her shock at his admission, head whirling to his direction as the meaning of his words set in. "I'm sorry, what?"

"He is yours now, my apprentice. He has served me well during his service, but I have no need for a bodyguard any longer; not as I am. But you, an untrained mage and my recently appointed apprentice? That will raise some eyebrows. I would hate for anything to happen to you, whether by your own hand or because a foolish rival wished to damage what is mine. 'Tis for your own safety, my dear. And you deserve only the best."

She felt bile rise in her throat at his words; at his admission that he considered her his property, at the fact he was gifting her a  _slave_ , at the fact that he was insinuating she was in danger by simply being associated with him.

But she didn't have time to panic, not when his pleased expression was slowly disintegrating into impatience when she didn't immediately reply. "T- Thank you, Elias, but… I can't possibly accept such an, er… generous gift!"

It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. Silence stretched between the three, but there didn't need to be any noise just to know that Elias was angry. "You wouldn't refuse my awfully kind gift, would you, Clare?" Elias asked, his grip on his staff tightening dangerously as the room's temperature suddenly dropped, a shiver running across her spine as he took a step towards her. "That would be awfully… rude. I would hate for my apprentice to be so...  _ill-mannered._ "

_Obedient,_  she remembered. Elloril had warned her of this. That she had to do whatever Elias said. Even, apparently, accepting a slave from him.

"I…" What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? "I'm sorry, Elias. I didn't mean to offend you."

He only hummed in response. "You accept, then?"

She hated him. In that moment, the kindling of dislike Clare had felt for him only a few moment before burned into hatred, into an inferno of anger and fury.

But she had to be strong. Had to remain in his good graces if she wished to return home. So she smoothed her features, and gave him a grateful smile. "Of course."

"Wonderful," he purred, tilting his head towards the elf who still remained on his knees on the floor. "What do you say to your new owner, Voss?"

Clare could hardly withhold the flinch that overtook her at being called the owner of another person. Voss, however, showed no reaction. He only bowed his head further, his forehead pressing against the hardwood floor. "I am yours to serve, mistress."

She felt too sick to even reply.

Elias, however, didn't seem bothered at her silence, only clapping his hands together in delight. "How marvelous! It is my honor to gift you your first slave," his eyes gleamed, either uncaring or oblivious at her horror, "Serve me well, Clare, and he will be your first of many."

Was that supposed to make her happy? Make her feel pleased with himself? Or was he aware of just how much he was torturing her in this very moment?

_I need to get out of here._

Her next words were careful, precise. "Hopefully, I will have found a way home before I can… take such advantages of your generosity."

Her acting seemed to be a lot better this time around, for Elias seemed far more pleased with her words than the first time she had lied. "So very polite. You and I shall get along just fine, I believe," he chuckled lightly to himself, as though he were sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. "Alas, I must be going. Voss shall escort you to dinner. Remember, my dear: you are free to wander the estate, just not the left wing. Do make sure to remember."

He was already halfway out the door when she meekly answered, "Yes, sir."

And then, he was gone, leaving only her and Voss in the room.

For a long moment, she only stood there, blinking away the angry tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She felt repulsive, disgusted with herself. Elias had given her a slave, and she had hardly even fought him on the issue. Had accepted it with a fake smile, unwilling to risk herself. And now, an innocent man was paying the price.

But now wasn't the time for breaking down. Now was the time for action.

She cleared her throat, eyes shifting to the man's who was still kneeling on the floor, waiting for him to get up. When he made no effort to, she sighed. "Uh, you don't have to wait for my permission or anything, Voss. You can stand up."

"Of course, mistress," he smoothly replied, instantly standing while keeping his head bowed.

She inwardly recoiled at being called mistress. "Voss, um," she began, unsure how to continue. "Please, you don't need to call me mistress. I… I don't consider you a slave, and don't want you to consider me as your... master." She spat the word  _master_  out like it was poison burning her tongue.

For a long moment, Voss simply stood there, deliberating. His expression gave absolutely nothing away, remaining as impassive and blank as when Elias was in the room. She thought that he wouldn't speak, remain as cool and emotionless as the day before when he walked her back to her room; she could hardly blame him. Yet, just as she was about to give up trying to get something out of him, he spoke, "It is what we are, mistress."

She almost jumped at his voice, yet managed to remain composed. "It's what we are?" she questioned, confused.

Once again, he paused, clearly considering his next words carefully. He didn't want to risk offending her, she realized. She supposed in his position, he had to be cautious. He had every reason to be cautious around her; she was an unknown, suddenly taken under the wing of his master, who, if Elloril was to be believed, was a far more sinister character than she realized. And now, he had been gifted to her, as though he were an object, a possession to be freely passed along from one person to the next. It was with those thoughts that fueled the sincerity behind her next words, a gentle vow she swears in that moment that she will not break. "I don't own slaves where I'm from, Voss. The practice is considered vile, inhumane. Please… I don't want to own slaves, don't want anything to do with this," she made a vague gesture towards his neck, where the leather collar remained, "You deserve freedom. Everyone does."

Sometime during her little speech, Voss had lifted his head to stare at her. A glint of something - hope, maybe? - flashed across his features, yet it passed as quickly as it came. All that remained was that same lifeless expression that she swore, somehow, while she remained here, would help to bring life to.

"You are in Tevinter now, mistress. Slaves do not deserve anything," he slowly said, "Master Elias would not be pleased by such talk, my lady."

It was a warning, she quickly realized. A gentle warning, one that warned her of the words that this place would probably consider treachery.

Yet even then, she wouldn't apologize. Wouldn't bend. If Elias was going to use her for something, keep her around in this awful place for a purpose she still did not know, she was not going to wait around silently. "Indeed," she replied, voice quiet and almost mischievous. "It's a shame he isn't here to hear it, isn't it?"

This time, he openly stared, and for the first time, she saw emotion on that freckled face; a slight tilt of the head, a gentle furrow of the brow, a sharp intake of breath. She swore it would not be the last. "... A shame indeed, mistress."

And in that moment, for the first time since coming to Thedas, she managed to smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh. my. gosh. guys, you have no idea how hard this chapter was to write. writers block kicked me so hard! but i finally managed to complete it. i'm not entirely happy with it, will probably go back and rewrite a few things, but for now, i just want to give you guys something! thank you all for being patient, i'd love to hear your thoughts! until next time xo


	4. Times of Adapting

Adjusting to life in Tevinter was not a simple affair.

After her first, rather exhausting day, her life had fallen into a simple routine; wake up, eat breakfast with Elloril, attend her lessons with Elias, practice spellcasting in the garden as Voss kept a watchful eye over her, eat dinner, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat for a week.

She hated every moment of it.

She hated her lessons with Elias, hated the magic, hated every moment being away from home. She hated the feeling of casting spells, feeling the speck of magic creeping down her arms that she struggled to control. Her life back home hadn't been perfect, not by a long shot, but at least she knew what was happening around her, and didn't feel like an alien masquerading as a human.

The only interesting time of her day was when she dreamed. Elias had taught her about the Fade, how mages could reshape it to their will when they dreamed. He'd taught her how to set wards around her room, made her practice it herself so that she could safely explore the land of dreams. She loved it every moment of it. She supposed it was like lucid dreaming, yet with so many more possibilities. She hadn't seen any entities like spirits or demons yet, which surprised her, since Elias warned her the more she explored the Fade, the more attention she would attract. Yet even then, as she pushed the boundaries of her dreams each night, she hadn't encountered anything.

 _I will protect you inside the Fade... it is up to you to guard yourself when you wake,_ is what the strange being that spoke to her the first time she had dreamt in Thedas had said.

She hadn't seen it again after that, despite her best efforts to seek it out again. She wasn't entirely sure what it was; a spirit, maybe, yet it didn't match the description Elias had given her during his lessons. Spirits, and even demons, seize upon a single facet of human experience, in which that one emotion or idea becomes their very identity. No matter how many times Clare replayed their conversation in her mind, she still could not identify a single emotion to it. It hadn't been a particularly curious creature; at least, it hadn't been curious about her emotions, but rather her existence, her presence. It didn't seek to understand her like spirits tended to do; it gave her instructions, told her outright it was responsible for pulling her through the Fade; that it had latched itself onto her. Which raised a terrifying question: what was it, and how exactly was it connected to her? She had debated asking Elias about it, but quickly dismissed the thought; she had no intention of arousing his interest or suspicion. For now, this would be her secret, and hers alone.

"-are? Clare? Are you listening to me?"

The sound of her mentor's voice instantly made her straighten her back in her seat, a sharp inhale the only indication of her lack of interest on what Elias had previously bee saying. His head was tilted sideways, a greying eyebrow rising as a slow, almost knowing smirk spread across his lips. No point lying to him when he looked like that; like he knew everything there was to know about her.

"Sorry, Elias. I was just… distracted."

He was a strange man, Elias. At first, she had simply thought him unhinged, slightly deranged in an odd, subtle way. Now, she understood he was not so easily categorized.

There was definitely something eerie about him; she had been right on the mark about that, at least. Sometimes, she caught him staring at her in their moments together during lessons or dinner, far too long than what would be considered necessary. It wasn't lecherous, not by any means, but rather more like he was dissecting her with just a stare. Like he was trying to understand her, wanted to see what made her tick.

She wished she could say that was all; that he was simply the cardboard cutout of a crazy, deranged villain. But he wasn't. In the seven days she had come to know him, he showed sudden bursts of kindness, and doted on her as though she were his own daughter. Despite his strict lessons and cold mannerisms, he showered her in gifts, presenting her with fine robes to wear and jewellery when he got the chance. She had been unenthusiastic about them, but accepted them as graciously as she could, still remembering his reaction from when she had tried to refuse his first gift, Voss. Her first slave. It still made her sick to her stomach to think about.

Despite this, there was little kindness in his eyes when he presented her with things; even when she had accepted his eyes did not light up with happiness, but a sense of victory, like he had just ensnared her into a trap and she was not yet aware of it.

Her best guess was that he was trying to butter her up. Make her like him. It might've worked, too, if not for Elloril's warning and the fact that he let his mask slip every now and again. It didn't take a genius to know Elias wasn't exactly a people person. He seemed to spend most of his time in the left wing, rarely leaving it if not for her lessons and to eat. She doubted he got out much; not once in the time she had been here had she seen him step outside the estate's gates.

Her attention was brought back to the same man that invaded her thoughts as he waved off her poor excuse, either unwilling to push the issue or simply not caring. Either was a plausible explanation for him. "Worry not, our lesson is finished for today. But before you go," He snapped his fingers, which she now knew as his sign for a slave to approach. Just like that, a young elvish woman walked forward from the shadows, looking no older than Clare herself. She felt so distraught at that little observation, that she didn't even see the woman hand a small handkerchief to her mentor, only snapping back to attention when she scurried away after gently depositing it into Elias' waiting hands, her task finished.

"This," he began, fingers gingerly unwrapping the handkerchief to find a necklace nestled inside, its pendant some kind of hand with a dagger impaled in it, barely the size of a coin, "is the Villaneuva family crest. It is customary for Magisters to gift their apprentices a symbol of their house. A symbol of their alliance."

Stunned into silence, she had little words to give him. Unbothered, he gestured for her to turn around, which she did so obediently, remaining quiet as he fastened the clasp around her neck. His fingers, cold against her skin, did not linger; the absence of them was not missed as he stood back from her, eyes appraising her breastbone where the crest now rested against her robes.

"Thank you, Elias," Clare said, as she always did when he gifted her something.

He noticed the lack of feelings in her voice. "Is something the matter?" he asked, his voice tethering on impatient.

She debated telling him the gifts were unnecessary, that she didn't need or want them. She truly had no use for them; she had already tried giving to Elloril, to which the poor woman nearly had a heart attack and refused to budge on the issue. I appreciate your thoughts, my lady, but if I were caught with such valuables, I would surely be punished. Even if you gave them to me. But knowing Elias, she didn't think refusing what he considered generosity was her best idea. So instead, she plastered on her best smile, opting to instead say, "It's nothing, Elias. You're very generous."

But even then, his expression didn't change. He didn't buy it in the slightest. When she expected him to contort in anger and give her some kind of passive threat he usually did, his expression softened, a small smile spreading across his face. "You clearly do not like the gifts I have given you, dear. There is no need to fear; tell me what you truly desire, and it should be yours."

That had surprised her. What she truly desired? If she were to tell the truth, that she wanted him to send her home, there was no doubt she would subsequently ruin whatever good mood he had put himself in. She debated for a moment asking him to set his slaves free, but she wasn't completely stupid to think he would actually do it. She'd never talked over the aspect of freedom with Elloril; she'd never quite had the bravery to bring it up. A small part of her feared her answer if she were to ask if she wanted to be free.

As Elias' lips downturned in agitation at her silence, she knew her time was up. With nothing to say, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. "A journal."

He clearly hadn't been expecting that. His eyebrows furrowed, tilting his head to the side as he always did when she said something that confused him. "A… journal? Are you sure?"

Now that she had said it, it didn't sound like a bad idea. Allowing her thoughts to be her words, she replied, "Yeah. A journal. So I can write down notes about magic and stuff. It'll help me learn quicker." That, and she could write down things about Thedas, or theories as to how she came here. It was something to keep her sane in this nightmare, at the very least.

Elias seemed pleased with her answer, so much so that he actually chuckled. Chuckled, of all things; she didn't think he had it in him to show such a humanistic act. "Ever the dutiful student," he laughed. "Very well. I will have one brought to you tomorrow, with your morning meal."

* * *

True to his word, Elias had the journal delivered to her the morning after. Elloril effortlessly balanced it against her forearm as she stepped into Clare's room that morning, her hands full from the silver platter, food scattered on it to the brim.

"Hey, Elloril," Clare greeted, sitting up with a yawn. Elloril smiled in greeting, gently kicking the door closed with her foot. She'd long since gotten used to Clare's casual use of language around her, yet she still remained as formal as ever. Well, as formal as one could be when your boss - she still refused to call herself Elloril's master - forced you to eat breakfast with them because you were malnourished and they were lonely.

"Good morning, my lady," she greeted, setting the tray on her lap as she gracefully sat on the edge of the bed, the book sliding down her forearm and into her now empty hand. Clare watched, mesmerized, at her grace. Maybe it was an elvish characteristic, she decided. "Master commanded that I bring this to you with your morning meal."

Gesturing Elloril to climb up onto the bed with her, since the woman still hadn't quite gotten used to the fact Clare allowed her to sit next to her on the bed, she shivered at the cold air that nipped at her fingers. She gasped, instantly retreating her body back under the bed covers. "Jesus Christ, it's freezing this morning! Aren't you cold?"

Elloril, seemingly undisturbed, only smiled at her. "No, my lady. I'm fine."

She didn't believe her for a moment. Sneaking a peek at her arms, she noticed the telltale sign of goosebumps disappearing up her sleeve. "You have goosebumps! You are cold!"

The woman's face flushed, clearly either afraid or embarrassed. Probably scared, as much as she wished that wasn't the case.

Elloril spluttered, but Clare could only laugh. "C'mon, get under the covers with me. We'll eat like this."

To that, the woman's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "My- My lady!"

But today, Clare was having none of it. Pulling the covers on Elloril's side out from underneath her, she quickly draped them across the woman's legs where she was sitting, allowing at least the lower half of her body to be somewhat warm. "Come on, Elloril, it's fine. You know me, I wouldn't ask you unless I wanted to."

She could've sworn she heard the woman huff something under her breath, before gently pulling the covers over her to lie in bed next to Clare. Giving her a reassuring smile, she offered her a peach; she had an affinity to them, she'd discovered when she noticed the woman went straight for them every morning, and began eating in silence.

As they finished their meal and migrated to the vanity to begin getting ready for the day, she could see something was on the elvish woman's mind. Her fingers were unusually clumsy this morning - something she would never comment on - and her eyes kept glancing at Clare's through the mirror. She didn't push the woman to speak; Elloril would undoubtedly take that more as a command than a request.

It was after her third failed attempt at braiding her hair that she finally sighed and gave in to whatever was on her mind. "My lady, may I… ask you a question?"

It was the first time Elloril had actually addressed her first with a question. It was a pleasant surprise. Putting on her most warm smile, knowing she needed all the encouragement she could get in even addressing Clare, she nodded, her enthusiasm palatable. "Of course you can. Ask me anything you like."

Her assurances seemed to encourage her well enough, as a small, shy smile spread across her cheeks, disappearing as quickly as it came. "If it doesn't trouble you, mistress, may I ask... what your home was like?"

In all the time she had been to Thedas, no one had ever asked her that. Most people were too afraid to approach her, being Elias' apprentice from a strange land, let alone talk to her. Voss never spoke to her, only until she addressed him did he speak; and even then, it was hard to get him to say something. Elias, on the other hand, seemed to completely lose interest in her home when she had explained there was no magic where she came from.  
"Well, it's…" She paused, unsure where to begin. "Where I'm from, we don't have magic. Well, I guess you could say our version of magic is science. We have buildings that reach the sky because of it, can harness electricity because of it, can travel across the world in only a few days because of it." She sighed wistfully, all the while casting a meaningful look at the elvish woman. "We don't have slavery in my homeland, either. It's considered a despicable practice to partake in."

Elloril didn't comment on that last little tidbit on information, seeming more surprised at the aspect that she had lived in a world without magic. "No magic? But… how?"

Clare grinned, shrugging in response. "We just live without it. It's easy once you're used to it, I guess."

"... I see." The elvish woman said, deciding to leave it at that. She frowned as she watched Elloril slowly disappear back into her meek shell.

Not wanting the moment to end so soon, Clare blurted the first thing that came into her head. "Can I ask you a question now?"  
Elloril seemed genuinely surprised that she would be interested enough to ask her anything, but she quickly masked it with a polite smile. "Of course you may, my lady."

There were a lot of things she wanted to ask, truth be told. Were your ears sensitive? Do elvish people have different abilities from humans? Are you immortal like in Lord of the Rings? But there was one that she hadn't been able to get off her mind ever since meeting the woman. One which she needed an answer to, if she was going to leave Thedas with a clear conscience. "Have… you ever wanted to be free?"

When the brush Elloril had been holding stopped midway through combing her hair, she knew the handmaid had heard her question. Desperate, she tried again. "Elloril?"

There was a short pause, where Clare allowed the poor woman a moment to think. It was a loaded question, she knew; one that no one else may have ever asked her before.

"No, my lady. I have not."

She had been expecting a lot of different answers. But no hadn't been one of them.

"No?" Clare repeated, shocked. "But why?"

She hadn't considered the possibility that Elloril was content in her life as a slave. How could she? Clare had spent her life with the understanding that slavery was a despicable practice, one that no person should ever want to partake in. So why did Elloril not fight it?

The answer to Clare's question was answered almost immediately, as Elloril sighed and began to speak, as though she had already recited the words to herself several times already. "If I were allowed freedom… what would I do? Where would I go? I have no family, no friends, no abilities," Elloril sighed, parting the woman's hair she had been brushing to begin braiding it. "I am a slave, my lady. There is nothing in this world for me."

It hurt to hear those words. It hurt more to know Elloril believed in them.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come out. What could she possibly say? How could she convince this woman freedom was a right and not something that could be given to her? How could she possibly convince her of it when that was the reality she was living in? Better yet, could she do that to her? Elloril seemed genuinely content in her life as a slave. If Clare told her that there was so much more to life than that, and she believed her, would she simply be sentencing her to a life where she longed for something she might not ever have?

Elloril seemed to notice her troubled expression, as she met her eyes through the mirror and, for the first time, gave her a reassuring smile. "I know you come from a different place, my lady, but this is Tevinter. This is our way of life here," Placing the brush down on the vanity, she placed her hands on Clare's shoulders, her lithe fingers giving them a gentle, comforting squeeze. Her expression changed for a moment, as though she were debating saying something. For the first time, her gaze turned tender, the smile on her lips not retreating as it usually did after a few seconds. "I am glad to be serving you. I do not wish to be doing anything else."

With that, they continued their morning routine in silence, Elloril's comforting hand remaining on Clare's shoulder the whole way through.

* * *

It _seems that the traits of large eyes and lithe bodies run across all elves; perhaps lithe bodies are a result of their malnourishment? Have only seen a handful since coming to Thedas, so I can't make an accurate judgment. Large eyes seems accurate, however. Haven't had time to observe any other traits. Enhanced hearing and sight, maybe?_

_Haven't had a chance to test out much of healing magic yet. Elias has taught me basics, but I can't get much practice in since you need an actual wound to do so. I would give myself some cuts if I could actually get my hands on a knife or something. Worse case scenario, I suck at healing and fix myself up._

The sound of a grunt made her jump, almost causing her to drop her quill she was forced to write with. Elias was taking a trip today, leaving the estate for the first time she had been here. He had instructed several guards to keep watch over her, _for her own safety,_ he had said, but she knew the truth; it was likely because he didn't trust her to not go snooping in the left wing. She decided to avoid that area altogether, so she had taken Voss and the handful of guards outside instead. They seemed to have decided that she wasn't going to do anything suspicious and, with that, decided to spar in the cool morning breeze with Voss while Clare sat to the side, writing in her journal and glancing up to watch them every now and again. She'd made good use of her newly acquired gift, writing down little tidbits of information when she had the chance; it could range from anything, magic to elves to the Fade. It was surprisingly a good method of clearing her head, along with the bonus that Voss seemed to enjoy the sparring well enough.

It was a quiet morning at the estate; just like every other day. Two weeks had passed since her first appearance and Thedas, and Voss rarely allowed himself to step out of his usual stiff disposition. It had taken a lot of reassurance on Clare's part, as well as careful questions and gentle compliments, but she felt like the elvish bodyguard was finally starting to warm up to her presence. Maybe even trust her. But even then, even with that small victory from both Voss and Elloril, she struggled to keep the gnawing emotion of loneliness at bay.

She had a rather large circle of friends back at home. College did that to a person; forced them into friendships. While she hadn't been on particularly good terms with her family, her friends had long ago filled the void in her heart her family had left when she decided to leave home and face the world herself. But she never faced those struggles alone; she had people just like her, who had their own harsh home lives and instead relied on each other for mutual support. Amanda, whose mother died of cancer and left her father as a raging alcoholic. Jason, who was raised by his grandparents and never knew his remaining family. Mary, who was disowned by her parents for her sexuality. With friends like hers, she had never once been lonely back at home.

But this wasn't home. This was Thedas.

Thedas, where fantasy races like elves existed. Thedas, where people could use magic. Thedas, where humans owned slaves. Thedas, where she was a complete and utter outsider in every single aspect.

Thedas, where she had no friends except her elvish handmaid and bodyguard who both probably considered her more of a master than an equal.

She sighed to herself, gently blowing on the ink in her journal to get it to dry faster, despite the fact it did very little to quicken the process. Setting it aside for now, she set her eyes to Voss, training with another guard. There was no point in trying to focus on writing when she got sentimental like this. It had been happening a lot the past few days; the loneliness crawling up her spine and into her thoughts the more time she spent away from home. At least watching Voss spar was a distraction, as she found herself becoming enchanted in the way his lithe body moved almost effortlessly to avoid the punches and slashes the guard tried to strike him with using his wooden sword.

Or it was a distraction, until her bodyguard met her eyes and failed to see the dangerously harsh punch coming his way, straight for his nose.

"Jesus Christ!" Clare screamed, watching in horror as the man's fist connected with his face, gushes of blood immediately spreading out across his cheek as he fell straight to the ground. Forgetting the journal on her lap, she dropped it without a care to sprint over to the pair, eyes wide in terror as blood continued to pour out of Voss' nose. His partner, as well as the other guards who had immediately stopped their own sparring matches, held an uncaring expression, a look of what she could have sworn was victory creeping up his attacker's face. But there wasn't time to analyze his partner's expression; not when Voss was bleeding out on the floor beside her.

"Voss, oh my god, oh Jesus," she rambled, dropping to her knees next to him, quickly falling into nurse-in-training mode as she gently, carefully, lifted his head and laid it in her lap, tilting his chin downwards so the blood didn't trickle back up his nose. His usually emotionless face had an edge of pain to it, his freckles hidden by the blood that had now smeared across his face.

The guard simply stared at her with an unreadable expression, almost confused that she was so worried about his well being. "You don't need to dirty your robes wit' his blood, mistress. He'll recover. No good knife-ear got what he deserved," his gravelly voice sneered, turning his head to the side to spit out some blood near Voss' feet. "Got a good couple'a punches in, though. Damn rabbit."

It was the first time she had actually spoken with a guard from Elias' estate, the only real interactions she ever got with them being when they would give her small, respectful nods in the morning. Now, as this man stood here insulting - because she was almost certain knife-ear, with the way he said it, spitting it out as though it were dirt stuck on the roof of his house, was some kind of insult - one of the closest things she had to a friend here, she was beginning to wish it stayed that way.

"I have no idea what knife-ear or rabbit means, and I sure as hell hope they're not insults," she sneered at him. For the first time since coming to Thedas, she was furious. Sure, she'd been angry when Elias had insulted her upon her arrival to stir a reaction out of her, but this was different. This was… wrong on so many different levels.

She'd managed to keep her mouth shut on slavery for this long. She'd managed to keep her opinions to herself, heeding Elloril's warning that it would do her no good to speak her mind on it. But now, she refused.

"Go get Elias, right now! You'd better hope Voss is alright, or it's on your head!" Clare almost screamed, satisfied when a look of panic spread across the man's face.

"My- my lady, Master Elias won't be back until tonight!"

Panic set into her at that, the revelation that there was no one here to control the situation but her, a woman who had absolutely zero idea about how medicine worked in Thedas. "How do I help him? Do you guys have a doctor here?"

The guard opened his mouth to respond, but another beat him to it. "We got some potions in the estate, my lady, but only Elias has the key to access them."

Potions. Of course Thedas had potions; she shouldn't have expected anything less from this place. "Well, what can we do without Elias?"

The guards glanced at each other for a moment, before they each respectively shrugged. "Notin', my lady. But you shouldn't worry, Elias won't be too displeased if the slave gets damaged; he's replaceable."

Fury coiled in Clare's gut as his words finally set in, the implication that it wouldn't matter if Voss got critically injured. "I don't give a shit whether Elias is going to be displeased, I'm going to be furious we don't do something to help him right now!"

That seemed to spur them into action, the realization that she was genuinely angry dawning on them. "I'll- I'll go see if I can find some elfroot, mistress!" Voss' attacker practically cried out, darting away to make his hasty retreat; she had no idea what the hell elfroot was, but she prayed it was something that could help. As much as she wished she did, she didn't have time to gloat and enjoy the victory, not when Voss began to cough and splutter, seeming to regain consciousness. She watched as his eyes fluttered open, slowly beginning to focus on her face, the wind gently glowing the wisps of her hair across his cheeks.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed, relieved. "Voss, are you alright? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He furrowed his brows at her question, but dutifully answered, "Three, my lady."

"Okay, good," she mumbled, "Don't worry, I was a nurse back home, I'm sure I can do something."

But there wasn't anything she could do. She could see the splinter of bone slightly protruding out of the wound, far too fatal to be simply closed by resetting the broken bone; it would need surgery. Which she couldn't do, not without the help of modern medicine and the right skillset; she was a nurse, not a surgeon, for god's sake! She knew how the theory of it worked, but not how to actually do it!

A nearby guard seemed to sense her panic, quietly speaking up, "Can you heal 'im, mistress?"

It clicked. At that moment, she could have kissed that wayward guard. Healing. She might not be able to help him like she could back home, but she did know how to heal. She hadn't gotten the chance to practice, but she knew the theory. If she just concentrated…

Another groan of pain from Voss spurred her into action. "Okay, Voss, I'm gonna try something, okay? I just need you to stay still for a second."

It looked like it hurt him to say so, but he quietly uttered in a nasally voice, "As you say, my lady."

Rubbing her hands together, she prayed she could pull this off. Elias had taught her that the basis of mages was willing things into existence; it was simply a matter of whether someone had to mana to pull it off. A mage's magic came from the Fade, after all; the place where anything was possible, if one was capable of controlling their surroundings.

 _Think about the blood flowing back into the wound, sewing the wound shut. Think about the unmarred flesh, before it was broken. Seal the wound, allow the blood to flow freely through the veins once more. You must concentrate on what the body was like before they were injured, and use your magic to make it so. Do not try to do it all at once. Take steps._ That's what Elias had said to her, only a few short lessons ago.

Take steps, concentrate on the unmarred flesh that was once a wound. She could do that. Firstly, she had to reset the bone. She tried to remember how Voss' nose looked like before this; hard, just like the rest of him, bronzed with a dust of freckles spreading across. As she engraved the memory into her mind, she began to feel the magic slither down her arm, into her outstretched palm that hovered over his face.

It began with the skin tilting upwards in the air, the bone giving a satisfying snap as some kind of force reattached it into its place, Voss only managing to give a startled, pain-filled grunt in response. Next, she focused on the skin, allowing the tendrils of magic to gently sew the wound shut back in careful strokes. Satisfied, she let her magic reach forward, checking him for any lasting damage; she soothed over the injury once more, urging the tissue to heal.

And just like that, it was done, the only reminder of what had transpired the remaining blood on his face.

"Voss, are you okay? Did I do it right?" Clare asked, worried when he showed no immediate reaction.

For a moment, he simply stared. Then he blinked once, twice, as though he struggled to remember where he was. "You healed me?" he asked, the nasally edge to his voice long gone.

She couldn't help but grin in response. "I think so. Do you feel anything?"

A look of shock crossed his face at her admission, quickly shaking his head at the question. "No, my lady, I feel fine. I…" he looked lost for a moment, almost contemplating. "Thank you. You didn't have to waste your magic on me; you could have simply waited until Elias returned."

Clare frowned at that, not particularly liking the implication that he was so insignificant that she should just… let him suffer rather than healing him. "Waste my magic on you? There's nothing else I'd rather spend my magic on," she gently corrected, reaching forward to wipe some blood off his face with her sleeve.

Unlike most emotions Voss showed, his shock was unfleeting, imprinted on his face clearer than any crystal. "I…" he stumbled, unsure of his words. Instead of attempting to continue, he cleared his throat, lifting himself off the ground to kneel on one knee in front of her, his fist placed over his chest. "I'm in your debt, my lady."

She smiled, trying to chase away the flush that was creeping on her cheeks. He was behaving like she had donated a vital organ to him. "Don't thank me, Voss," She debated saying more for a short moment, before taking a leap. "You're my friend, right?"

He looked up at her, a small smile stretching his lips, uncaring of their audience. "Yes, my lady," he replied, "We are… friends."

The word sounded foreign coming from him, but it was enough. The declaration that they were equals hung in the air for the rest of the day, no one daring to comment on it.

For the first time since coming to Thedas, she felt a glimmer of hope.

* * *

"Good. Again."

She sighed, closing her fist as the fire in her hand flickered out. Focusing once more, she imagined the feeling of a flame creeping up her arm and into her awaiting palm, just as Elias had instructed her. This time, she felt the embers ignite rather than saw it. It was warm, different from the intense burning it should have been. Almost comforting in the frosty cold as they stood in the estate's grounds, Elias watching her movements patiently beside her as Voss kept a watchful eye.

Three weeks and four days had passed since coming to Thedas, and her spellcasting had dramatically improved. Ever since the incident with healing Voss' broken nose, Elias had allowed her to practice on the guards when they injured themselves sparring. _Better than wasting potions,_ he had said. Now, the guardsmen came to her whenever they managed to hurt themselves, forcing Clare to quickly learn how to heal broken bones, scrapes, and gashes. They seemed to have developed a begrudging kind of respect - and almost dependency - to her, seeming to put aside her outburst when one of their men injured Voss for the sake of her skills.

As a result, she'd gotten significantly better at casting spells altogether. She was able to focus her energy - or mana, as Elias called it - to do more complex acts of magic, noticing she had a strange affinity to fire and, of course, healing. It was odd how easily the magic came to her; like an old memory, as one would try to recall knowledge they had learned a long time ago, but couldn't quite remember it. Like she was rusty at it, and was just getting back into the practice. Because of it, she'd managed to get the hang of Elias' teachings rather quickly. He never praised her, however; only moved onto the next task. Not that she particularly needed or wanted it.

"That's enough," Elias instructed, holding up his hand as the fire in her hand flickered out once more. "I think you're ready."

The admission surprised her. Usually, Elias bought her out on the courtyard to simply let her practice; she'd had no idea she was on trial. "Ready? Ready for what?"

Ignoring her, he snapped his fingers. She frowned when Voss stepped forward, a staff in his hands; they made eye contact for a small moment, before he was forced to break it as he handed Elias the magical item. Its design was simple and quaint. Its base was wrapped in a thick leather, allowing her to keep a firm grip on it, with a sickle, of all things, attached to its tip.

"This," he began, giving the staff an experimental twirl, "is now your staff. You've proven yourself ready to move onto the true spellcasting nature of magic. Come, see."

She slowly approached, apprehensive. Taking the staff from her mentor, she copied Elias' earlier movement, giving it an experimental twirl. She felt absolutely ridiculous, but also… oddly powerful.

"Staves are used to concentrate your mana to help its user create more powerful, complex spells. A proper mage uses it like it is an extension of themselves; another limb. Keep it on you at all times; I do not wish to see you without it."

She slowly nodded, soaking the words in. Seemingly satisfied, he took a step forward, coming to stand beside her. "Good. Now, copy my movements. Feel your mana flow through you, and out of the staff."

She positioned herself, concentrating. It wasn't a particularly hard task, using a staff; most of the time it felt like it was drawing the magic out of you, making spellcasting significantly easier. It was the movements that she found hard, struggling to keep up with Elias' graceful motions as he maneuvered the staff around himself, clearly an expert at the act.

It was after whacking herself with her newly acquired staff the third time that Elias let out a small chuckle, something he seemed prone to do only when she injured herself. She huffed, clearly annoyed, but didn't complain. Not here, not when she had come so far.

Elias, sensing her determination, only smiled. "Again."

* * *

As it turned out, spellcasting with a staff was vigorous work, Clare huffing as she tried to replicate the moves Elias had shown only a few days ago. He'd demanded only the best from her, correcting her form by whacking her with the tip of his own staff when she practiced. It had frustrated her to no end and left her with plenty of bruises, but she was learning. The maneuvers were coming to her easier as the days went by, the magic flowing through her and out of her staff almost like it was instinct. She wasn't perfect, but practice would get her there.

And Elias wanted nothing short of perfect from her.

So, here she was, casting spells as her stoic bodyguard kept a watchful eye. Whenever she managed to do a particularly difficult spell, she'd look over her shoulder, a victorious grin on her face as he only offered a nod of acknowledgment in response.

Since their declaration of friendship, Voss, along with Elloril, remained the only two people Clare would truly consider her friends in Thedas. As time went on, Clare continuing to share her breakfasts with the elvish woman and making small talk, she had slowly opened up to her, enough to even call her a friend more than an ally. Their time in the morning together was precious to Clare, as they idly chatted, sharing little tidbits information with each other as the elvish woman brushed her hair, hands slightly sticky from eating Clare's morning breakfast with her. With Voss, it was different; they didn't have a safe haven to interact freely with one another, but a knowing look shared between the two whenever Elias said something particularly draining was enough for Clare to know they were on the same page; almost like they shared an inside joke together. Their interactions kept her sane.

But she wasn't here to make friends. She wasn't even here for a particular purpose. She was here to go home. And the way home was through helping Elias, as well as mastering her magic. Once you master the basics of spellworking, we can move onto far more significant things, Elias had said to her. So, she'd worked relentlessly, desperate to master whatever task Elias threw at her. The sooner she did, the sooner she could do whatever Elias needed from her. Then, she could go home.

Her resolve strengthened once more, she resumed practicing, focusing all her energy into the staff gripped in her hands.

"Let go of me, you shems! Fenedhis lasa!"

It wasn't often you heard loud noises in Elias' estate. He enjoyed the quiet, as she had quickly learned. Even when the guards trained in the courtyard where she studied, they were silent, not daring to let out even the slightest of a battle cry, the only sound the clangs of their swords and the occasional grunt. It had been a bit disconcerting at first, but she'd gotten used to it over time. So one could imagine her surprise at hearing someone actually shouting, of all things.

She followed the sound, interest thoroughly piqued, just in time to see an elvish woman, no older than herself, being dragged by Elias' guards towards the estate. She was dressed differently than the other slaves Clare had met so far. The telltale collar was absent from her neck, and was dressed in what looked like green leather and chainmail armor, with a bow and quiver full of arrows attached to her backside. She flailed about, relentlessly kicking and screaming, her blonde braid whacking the guards as she furiously struggled to escape their grip. Clare could've sworn she saw her try to bite one of their hands.

"Who is that, Voss?" She asked when the woman, now being manhandled by the two exasperated guards as they struggled to drag her into the estate.

"A new slave I believe, my lady," Voss replied, "Unbroken, it seems."

The word _unbroken_ made her stomach coil, its meaning not lost on her. "Jesus Christ," she mumbled, rubbing her temples. "I hate it here."

Voss was quiet for a long moment. He does that a lot, Clare now knows; deliberates his words carefully, taking a while before he speaks. He doesn't entirely trust Clare, doesn't trust her to speak his mind; not with the power dynamic between them. Well, she had thought so, until he murmured, "We must endure, my lady."

 _We,_ he had said. They were all suffering in this place. The slaves far more than her.

It was a harsh reminder. "I'm going to get out of here," she seethed quietly. Then, quietly, "And you should too."

She could've sworn she saw him tense, his shoulders stiffening and inhaling quickly through his nose. His eyes scanned the area around them, searching for any eavesdroppers. Satisfied that no one was listening, he remained silent once more for a moment. Then, "There is no escape for slaves. This is the life I was given. You, on the other hand, must master your magic first to leave, my lady."

Well, he was right about one thing, and it wasn't about himself. "You know," she mumbled, looking down at her hands, the feeling of magic long gone, "it doesn't have to be that way."

He didn't say anything further, not that she expected him to. Instead, he looked out towards the sun, slowly disappearing over the horizon. "Shall I escort you to dinner, my lady?"

It was a dismissal if she'd ever heard one. He was done talking about this, she knew. And as much as she wished she could change his mind, she respected his boundaries. "Yeah," she sighed, gripping her staff as she turned towards the estate. "Let's go."

* * *

Elias didn't come to dinner that night, one of the guards telling her he had important business to attend to. Not that she particularly minded; being around Elias made her incredibly nervous, despite all the time she had spent with him. She enjoyed dinner that night in peace, eating her meal quietly and slipping out as soon as she could, not wanting to find out if her mentor might spontaneously visit or finish his business early. She went to sleep early that night, and dreamt of a land in the sky.

When she woke up, her day started normal enough. She woke up to Elloril opening the curtains, ate breakfast with her elvish friend as they idly chatted; apparently, there was a scandal currently going on amongst the slaves with the sudden introduction of their newest member; Tariel, Clare learned her name was.

"She's dalish, that one," Elloril had said, brushing Clare's hair as she sat in front of the vanity mirror. "Considered exotic in Tevinter. But she's loud, angry, and a real fighter. Gonna get herself killed, and it's making everyone nervous."

"Dalish? Killed?" Clare gasped, abruptly turning around in her seat to look her friend in the eye. "Elias won't kill her, will he?"

Elloril only gave her a sympathetic smile, like she was talking to a child who had just asked how what death was. "What use is a disobedient slave to him?"

Clare opened her mouth to reply, but her words died in her throat as the sound of a knock resounded through the room. The two women jumped, startled, turning to each other questioningly. Voss never knocked when he came to escort her to her lessons; he waited outside until she was ready. Had they taken up more time than usual?

"Clare, my dear, are you decent? May I enter?"

The sound of Elias' voice caused panic to spike through her veins, and she wasn't the only one. Elloril tensed in her peripheral vision, fear overtaking her features that had been alight with content only moments ago. Almost instantly, she fell back into the role of a meek slave, all because of Elias' mere presence behind a wall.

"Uh, yeah, I'm good," she yelled back. When Elias still didn't enter, she grumbled, rewording her sentence, "I'm dressed, sir."

That seemed to do the trick, the doorknob turning as Elias opened the door, entering in a flourish of colors and layers. He seemed more done up today, his beard neatly trimmed and his robes more extravagant than usual. He had a different staff, too; the one he had hung up on his study, she realized. And was that vanilla she smelt?

"It seems," he growled out, pacing around her room, "that we must cancel our lessons for today. We have a visitor that will be arriving soon. A fellow colleague of mine. I need you to be perfect."

He turned to Elloril, who stood obediently by Clare's side, head bowed respectfully. She didn't so much as make a noise when Elias bellowed at her, "You! Get three other handmaidens, and make her presentable. I need her ready as soon as possible. Dress her in the best robes you can find," he ordered, his eyes instantly fixing on Clare as Elloril bowed, rushing out the door. "Meet me at the entrance as soon as possible. Do not speak unless spoken to, do not ask questions, and do not embarrass me."

Before she could even mumble out a yes, sir, he was already gone, disappearing out the door as quickly as he had come. Grumbling to herself, she turned back to the vanity, picking up the brush Elloril had left to resume brushing her hair. Her mind was overflowing with questions, but now wasn't the time for them. God knows what Elias would do if she embarrassed him in front of his mysterious colleague.

Lost in her thoughts, the sound of the door being abruptly pushed open once more startled her, causing Clare to involuntarily yank a particularly difficult knot in her hair. She hissed, hand going up to her scalp to soothe the sharp pain. She didn't even notice Elloril, along with two other slaves, rush inside, setting several items down on her bed and vanity.

"We don't have much time," Elloril managed to gasp out, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain her breath. Her two companions looked shocked at her ease at addressing their human mistress, clearly unused to interacting with someone who didn't treat them with any more respect than furniture.

Clare, in response, only gave them a reassuring smile, to which they only shrunk away from her gaze. "It's nice to meet you both. What're your names?"

Elloril, however, didn't seem to have time for introductions. Shooting her two companions a placating look, she strode over to Clare, grasping her hands and looking her straight in the eyes. "Clare, you have to be careful. Whoever is visiting today… it has Elias on edge. He never gets social calls; the only people who come here are…" She shook her head, her hands beginning to shake as they held her own. "You must be cautious."

She gulped at the elvish woman's words. "Elloril… who are the only people who come here?"

In the corner of her eye, she saw the two other slaves flinch, like they were trying to fold into themselves. Elloril, too, mirrored their movements, her fear coming off her in waves as she looked away. "I… I don't entirely know. Some kind of group, but…" It was then that she made eye contact with Clare, her eyes shining with terror. But she didn't say anything; only shook whatever thoughts were distracting out of her head, mumbling more to herself, "No, we don't have time for this. We have to get you ready."

And so, calling her two companions over, their hands full of fabrics and cosmetics, they did just that.

* * *

When first coming to Thedas, she had thought wearing the robes were bad. She'd had little choice in the matter, as Elias had burned her clothes from when she had first appeared before him. He'd allowed her to wear more practical clothes when practicing spellcasting with her staff, but she still missed skinny jeans and bras that actually supported her chest instead of a breast band.

Now, however, having been forced into a tight-fitting dress where the skirt fell in graceful layers at the back and came short at the front, legs modestly hidden by a pair of black stockings and hair pinned up by some extravagant Tevinter headwear, she realized she should have just counted her blessings.

"Stop twitching," Elias snapped from beside her, not even bothering to make eye contact as his eyes remained trained on the gates of the estate. Thoroughly scolded, she dropped her hands from the frills on her skirt to her sides, huffing quietly to herself. Her apprehension at meeting this mysterious guest had dropped dramatically after the twenty-minute time stamp of waiting at the entrance with her mentor for them to arrive, with little else to entertain herself but to look at the sky and attempt to make shapes out of the clouds.

She'd had such little time to stop and enjoy the air since coming to Thedas; she'd been too busy worrying about getting out of the place to do so. But now, standing beside her grouchy mentor, staring at the sky that seemed almost a shade bluer than back home, breathing in the pollution-free air, she found herself appreciating at least this much of the strange world. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Well, it was, until the sound of the estate's gates opening to make way for a carriage flung her back into panic mode.

"Straighten your posture," Elias hissed to her as the carriage began to make its way around the spiraling road to the estate's entrance, finally coming to a grand stop before them. Immediately, she squared her shoulders, stood upright, and held her head high; T _evinter women are not meek. They are proud,_ Elias' voice echoed in her head. She _wanted_ to be proud, but she felt nothing short of meek at this moment.

She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as the carriage door opened. A man, no older than Elias, stepped out, dressed in the same fine robes and silks her mentor usually fashioned, a red hood with pointed tips at the ears sticking out of its sides; but that couldn't hide the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion in his movements, and the lines of stress etched into his forehead. But even then, he stood firm, proud, eyes blinking against the harsh sunlight for only a moment before turning his steely gaze to appraise the estate; going from the manor, to the stand-by slaves, to Elias, and finally, to her. His eyebrows, thick yet neatly trimmed, only furrowed the tiniest bit as he met her gaze.

"Gereon Alexius," Elias purred. "How lovely of you to visit us."


	5. Eyes of Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyes ablaze with fury, fingers drenched with blood, she comes to understand the true nature of this world.

It didn't take Clare too long to realize that Gereon Alexius and her mentor were less than fond of each other.

The first indication was when Alexius did not stir at the greeting. He did not return it, smile, or even react. Instead, his eyes skimmed across the courtyard just as he did before, almost lazily this time, eyes finally returning to her mentor after a few short moments of almost sneering at his surroundings.

"Elias Villaneuva," he finally returned, the words nothing short of an unimpressed drawl, "A pleasure, as always."

His tone indicated he thought anything but.

Elias, however, was undisturbed. His mask, one she was so used to seeing, remained intact, showing no indication of what he was truly feeling. A moment passed where that impassive, cold facade remained in place, and just as it was beginning to unnerve Clare, a smile - forced, even she could see - plastered itself across his face. The notion made him look almost… unnatural. "Ah, you flatter me, old friend. Yet it seems introductions are in order. Gereon, please meet my apprentice," A pause, Elias taking a moment to meet her eyes before speaking his next words, "Clare Albsio."

_What?_

She managed to calm herself and wipe the shock off her face just in time as Alexius glanced over at her, eyes narrowed. "An apprentice, you say?" he replied, a hint of bitterness in his eyes as he turned back to Elias. "I had thought you considered them a waste of your precious time."

Clare gulped at his words. She'd never heard anyone talk so brazenly to her mentor before; not even she, for all her bad manners and foot-in-mouth syndrome, knew better than to take such a tone on with him. Yet despite the fact that Gereon Alexius practically spat the words at him, Elias did not falter. Instead, his smile only broadened, yet it only served to make him appear all the more unnatural and sinister. "We all make exceptions, Alexius," he replied, his tone almost mocking. "Speaking of apprentices, how is Dorian?"

It was as though Elias may have well as just physically hit Alexius. Whoever the hell Dorian was, he was clearly a soft spot for the man. She had no idea what Elias had meant by asking that question, but it clearly had it desired effect as Alexius' eyes darkened, causing her mentor's expression to border upon downright gleeful at the sight.

Yet just as the look of rage passed onto his face, it was gone just as quickly. Alexius cleared his throat, an obvious attempt to calm his grating nerves. "Dorian and I have… parted ways. Odd that you have not heard, but I suppose being a hermit has its effects," he jeered.

Elias only _tsk'd,_ shaking his head in some kind of false proclamation of sympathy. "I am sorry to hear that. He seemed to have so much potential," he said, the words bordering upon sarcastic.

Clare watched as Alexius clearly struggled to keep his face impassive, his eyebrows twitching. "Indeed. Shall we then?"

Her mentor, looking vaguely disappointed that Alexius had cut off him off from his amusement so quickly, inclined his head in response, turning on his heel to stride into the estate. Clare dutifully kept her mouth shut as her mentor lead this mysterious Gereon Alexius inside, head down as she trailed a step behind Elias. The slaves that had gathered in greeting for their master's guest slowly dissipated, leaving to attend to their duties once more. Even Voss, she noticed with more than slight unease, hadn't followed them inside.

Never before had she felt so uncomfortable by two people. Silence stretched between the three as they walked, none making any effort for idle chatter. Against her better judgement, she took this moment to sneak a glance at Alexius, who trailed after Elias with little interest as to where they were going; almost as though he'd done this several times before. He held his head high, unconcerned with his two escorts, eyes trailing along the several portraits that decorated the walls. He didn't look impressed. Lost in her own observations, she didn't have time to look away as his eye caught hers. He rose an eyebrow at her curious stare, to which she immediately turned her head away, cheeks burning in mortification and embarrassment. Mentally berating herself for being caught staring but still filing her small observation away for later, she continued on, trying not to let her panic show at being around an individual that seemed to command so much respect. She's only just gotten used to Elias' overbearing presence; another was almost too much for her to handle.

Thankfully, some kind of deity seemed to show mercy on her today. As they Elias paused in front of a door - the door to his study, she quickly realized - Alexius cleared his throat. "I am here on  _his_  business, Villaneuva," he stated, eyes none-too-subtly drifting to Clare, his mistrust palatable.

She knew better than to question who he was, despite the curiosity that burned within her. Elias, on the other hand, seemed only amused by his words. "And here I thought you were making a social call. A shame," he sighed, waving his hand in Clare's direction. "You may go, my dear apprentice."

She almost choked on her own saliva as she registered the fact that Elias had just made a joke, of all things. Instead, she swallowed her shock, giving him a meek nod. "I'll be in the gardens then," she replied, and after a moment of deliberation, turned to Alexius. "It was a pleasure meeting you, sir."

Her words were obviously the right thing to say as Elias' lips upturned, giving her a quick nod over Alexius' shoulder. The man himself seemed almost surprised by her politeness, making her wonder if she'd done something wrong. Yet before she could deliberate whether her words had been wrong, he gave her an almost polite nod in response. "And you, my dear. A shame to cut our meeting so short. Perhaps another time."

 _God,_  she hoped not. But she masked her displeasure at the notion with a shy smile, quickly turning on her heel and practically speed-walking away from the pair, eager to be away from the hostile atmosphere they masked with fake, polite words.

After several moments, she decided she was far away enough, and pressed her back against the hall's wall, releasing a breath of air she hadn't realised she'd been holding. There was so much she needed to unpack from that meeting; Elias' constant antagonising of the man, Alexius' hostility, and, perhaps most significantly, his words when they reached Elias' study.  _I am here upon **his**  business,_ is what he had said. A clear dismissal of her presence. Not only that, but his strange refusal to say whose business he had been here for was clearly to keep her, specifically, in the dark, for Elias had clearly known who Alexius had spoken of. He didn't trust her, which was fair to Clare. She didn't trust Alexius either. But that didn't stop her from wondering to herself, wishing for answers.

As her mind swirled, trying to put the pieces of this mysterious puzzle together, she couldn't help but sigh. The more time that passed here, the more questions she seemed to have, all the while receiving absolutely no answers.

Unwilling to dwell on the troubling thoughts any longer, she groaned to herself, pushing her body off the wall and continuing to walk in the general direction to the garden. She'd managed to memorise the general outline of the castle after being stuck here for a month, despite feeling like it had been so much longer than that. She nodded to the set of guards by the doors that lead outside, to which they returned her gesture.

"Will you be needing an escort, my lady?" one asked, his voice hesitant. She couldn't help but smile in endearment. After the fiasco with Voss' broken nose, she had taken to practising her healing magic regularly upon the guards, who frequently managed to injure themselves during their sparring matches. In doing so, she had managed to familiarise herself with them, and had now developed an odd kind friendship with the lot.

"No, I should be fine, thank you. Voss will probably find me sooner or later," she replied, stepping outside once the two nodded in understanding.

She felt a gentle breeze brush against her upon stepping outside, and she couldn't help but sigh in content. The air was so much clearer here in Thedas; it one of the smaller things she had come to appreciate about this strange land.

She took her time making her way to her usual place in the garden, calming her still racing nerves by taking in the scent of the several flowers Elias fashioned in the garden. It was likely her favourite spot in the estate, where she frequently went to practise her spellcasting or simply relax. She knew Voss would easily find her here; this was their spot, where they always went after a lesson, where they could speak without the worry of anyone's listening ears. Although he still kept himself fairly guarded around her, he was beginning to speak with a sense of familiarity to her in private, which she appreciated greatly.

The sound of rustling leaves brought her from her reverie. She smiled, not bothering to look over her shoulder. "Voss, thank God you're here, I-"

The feeling of something distinctly sharp and cold pressing against her throat quickly cut her off.

"Don't move a single muscle, shem."

That was not Voss' voice.

"Try anything, and I slit your throat right here."

She felt her blood run cold, felt her stomach drop to the floor, felt beads of sweat beginning to form on her temple.

The knife pressed harder against her throat. "Do you understand,  _shem_?"

Feminine, with a rough edge to it. Slim, yet calloused fingers gripped her arms harshly, sure to leave bruises later.

Clare closed her eyes, slowly swallowing her panic that threatened to spill over. "I… I understand."

She'd never had a knife held to her throat before. It was a surreal feeling if she were to tell the truth. Like the world around her was displaced in time, fallen into nothing of meaning, the only thing truly important being whether this person decided to press their blade only the smallest bit harder against her throat. The worst abuse she'd probably ever faced back home was when her mother had slapped her for the first and final time. She remembered the stinging of her cheek and the red handprint for days, despite for fact it faded over only a few hours. It felt like a lifetime ago now, when compared to this.

"You magisters are going to pay for what you did to me. You're not him, but you're close enough," the voice sneered. Suddenly, Clare felt herself being shoved to the floor, someone's foot harshly nudging her onto her back and pressing angrily against her chest before she could even register falling.

A woman's face, contorted with fury, greeted her vision. Braided hair fell across her bloodied shoulders, tucked neatly behind pointed ears. Tattoos decorated her face, graceful lines that swirled across her forehead down to her cheekbones. A nasty-looking gash travelled from her cheek down to her jaw, inflamed and red and looking terribly recent.

It did not take Clare long to understand just who she was staring at.

"You're that… the…" she stumbled with her words, struggling to breathe with her foot pressing down on her chest. "That… day-lish person."

She remembered how wild she looked when Clare first saw her, so full of anger and spirit and fight. She remembered how she struggled against the guards that held her, screaming and biting, and the respect Clare felt for her at her ability to fight the injustice of this place in a way she never could. The only difference between now and then was the fact her body had much more dried blood on it, and she looked angrier than anything Clare had ever seen in her twenty years of existence. Her stomach coiled when she even tried to think about where that blood had come from, and what had happened to her to make her entire body shake with such fury.

The woman only snorted, eyes narrowing almost into slits. "Are you trying to say  _Dalish_ , human? Do not disgrace the word with your filthy, slaving tongue," she hissed, pressing down harder against her chest. She could only heave in response.

She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.  _God,_  she was scared. Never before had she felt so helpless, so pathetic, so afraid for her own life.

"I- I'm not like him. Please," she begged, not needing to elaborate on who  _he_  was.

The elvish woman did not falter. "Yes, you are," she hissed. "You're all the same. Taking and hurting and hunting us. If you're not like him, where were you when I was being tortured in your dungeon? You were here, enjoying your freedom and slaves."

The tears that had been forming at the corners of her eyes now fell from her eyelids, slowly making their way down her cheeks. It was true. Everything she said was true. There was nothing to say to that because she was right. What had she done when she saw this woman being dragged here? She'd shaken her head, remarked how she hated this place, and proceeded to do nothing about it. No, she only continued worrying about herself, only working towards getting herself home because  _this wasn't her world, so why should she really care?_

She was right, and Clare hated herself for it.

 _I'm no better than him,_  she realised.  _He's doing these things, and I know he is. And yet I do nothing about it. It doesn't matter if everyone told me to say silent and complacent. I did nothing._

She opened her mouth.  _You're right,_  she wanted to say.  _You're right and I'm sorry._  She tried to reply, yet no words formed.  _You're right and there's nothing I can say to make it better, and I'm so sorry for it._

Yet she never got to say those words.

Because just as she opened her mouth, the base of a familiar sword swung towards the elvish woman's head, the sound of a resounding crack and familiar, honeycomb eyes her final companions as she passed out cold.

* * *

Elias Villaneuva likes to consider himself a rather intelligent man.

He was a well-respected, albeit rather feared man within the Magisterium. Some, like the man who sat before him, would say for all the wrong reasons. He himself liked to believe it was for his quick wit and his no-nonsense attitude. He had never been one to deal in politics; that was once his wife's forte.

But one didn't have to be intelligent or deal within the trivial affairs of Tevinter society to see Gereon Alexius despised him, and would not dare to set foot in his estate unless something truly drastic called for it.

He stretched out in his chair, resting his hands on his hardwood desk. Alexius, for all his years in Tevinter society, masked his discomfort well. But Elias, as much as he loathed to say it, knew his old friend well enough to pinpoint the telltale signs of his agitation.

He already understood the source of his alarm. The appearance of his apprentice was surely one for shock. Especially when he had once looked down upon Alexius for taking one so long ago.

As much as he wished to have this meeting over with - he had more important matters to attend to, after all - he understood the necessity of tact. So he sat back, patient as ever, and waited for Alexius to speak his words. To ask his questions about his apprentice. It was exactly why he had sent her away, after all.

It did not take long for him to find his courage.

"Why have you taken on an apprentice?" he finally demanded, an eyebrow raised. Expectant. Patient. Gereon Alexius was Tevinter, through and through.

For a long moment, he considered lying. But to lie to Alexius would be to lie to their mutual friend, and that was not something he intended to do. Withholding the entire truth, however…

"The same reason you did. I found her, I saw potential, and decided that her enlightenment was preferable to her ignorance," he answered.

Alexius only frowned at his answer. "You never see potential. Even the most remarkable are simply ordinary to you."

If it were anyone but Alexius, he would be furious at his bluntness. But there was truth to his words, allowing his anger to sizzle away as quickly as it had come. "I'll allow you that truth," he conceded. "But this girl has already begun to master a staff."

A rather undignified laugh was his reply. "She is no child. Such a feat is ordinary, at best."

"Her magic surfaced only one month ago."

That stopped Alexius in his tracks. He paused for a moment, eyes narrowed. "You lie," he replied, tone bordering on an angry hiss. "No magic can surface that late in one's life; and if it did, it would have to be unremarkably weak. It's impossible."

Elias only rolled his eyes at his comrade's narrow-minded thought process. How fickle he was. "Not without outside influence, it isn't."

He could pinpoint the exact moment his words truly sunk in. Alexius hid his surprise well, but Elias saw it. He had his attention now, he knew. "How?" he asked. One word, but it was the only one he needed.

Elias himself had long asked himself this question when considering Clare. How was it possible? He had once sought answers by seeking her out in the Fade, for it was far more easier to find answers when one, especially an untrained mage, struggled to control their subconscious. He had been shocked to find something blocked him out. Not the girl himself, but something else entirely. Something foreign, something he had never encountered before.

Something was protecting the girl, from both demons and somniari alike.

"I'm unsure," he conceded. It pained him to even say so. "But I intend to discover how."

Alexius tilted his head at his admission. "The girl won't give her answers? What is stopping you from forcing them from her?"

Elias barely managed to control the urge to roll his eyes. He had considered forcing her, using more unsavoury methods - it was hardly as though he was incapable of it; the Dalish savage he had rotting in his dungeon could attest to that much - but had already decided that brutality was not the call for this situation. Not as a last resort, at least. "For now, her cooperation obviously is preferable," he patronised. "If I am to use her for our purposes, she must reach her full potential, and I am certain she cannot do that unless under the false pretence of freedom. Then, I will do what must be done."

He had, of course, seen the girl's aversion to slavery. But she was weak, refusing to comment on the issue or push it with him. He was glad for it, in all honesty. Even after such a short time, she knew her place. It was why he never paid her compliments in their lessons. To compliment would be to give her confidence, and to allow confidence could pave way to something much more dangerous - pride, and worse, self-importance. If he allowed such emotions from her, it would only be a matter of time before she began to undermine him. He would not let his energy go to waste.

When all was said and done, when she had reached the peak of her power, he would do what he must. Enslave her to their master, and allow her to be the catalyst for his success. Some would call him cruel for it, but it was necessary. One life for the restoration of his people was a small sacrifice he was willing to make.

"I only hope your work comes to fruition," Alexius replied, voice sickeningly condescending, "The Elder One would be most… displeased if you allowed yourself such failure."

Elias barely suppressed a sneer. "Which is exactly why I will enslave her using Erimond's ritual," he snapped. "But you, of all people, did not come here to lecture me on priorities. Why are you here?"

He could practically hear Alexius' teeth grinding at the insult, but such a dignified man would not allow himself to lose his patience. No, instead, he smoothed his features and cleared his tone of all hostility. "Have you heard of the unrest in the South?"

He had not. "You know that I haven't, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

He could've sworn Alexius rolled his eyes. The audacity of him; had their goals not aligned, he would have already had him killed. "There are reports that an apostate has caused the destruction of a Chantry in a backwashed city in the Free Marches. The result was an unauthorised Rite of Annulment. Now, war is beginning to break out between mages and templars alike. And it is spreading across their lands," he paused for a moment, allowing his words to truly sink in. "A Divine Conclave will be held in two months, their pathetic attempt to peacefully end the war. Organised by the Chantry."

The barbarity of the Southerners never ceased to amaze him. "Where?" Elias immediately asked, interest thoroughly piqued.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes. Divine Justinia V will be attending."

It was all the confirmation he needed. "It is time, then?" He did not need to elaborate. He knew the Elder One's plans as well as Alexius did. All they needed now was the confirmation to put his intentions in action.

Alexius nodded. "Indeed. We have the Orlesian Grey Wardens under our control, which will allow us passage."

 _They will tear themselves apart; we will barely have to do anything,_  he realised. "I see," was his short reply.

They was little else they had to discuss, and he knew Alexius would not prolong this meeting any more than he possibly could. Just as he expected, the man immediately stood up from his seat across from Elias. "We will meet again soon. Preparations must be made-"

A knock, purposeful and impatient, interrupted the man's next words. Elias rose a brow at the interference.

Alexius was less than impressed. "I will see myself out. You clearly have more pressing matters," he sniffed, striding to the door and opening it with more force than necessary. He waited until the man was gone, escorted by his guards, before calling whoever had interrupted them inside. He was only slightly surprised at who entered.

An elf, the one he had gifted to Clare, he realised, rushed inside. He looked almost… panicked. Dishevelled.

"Master, something requires your immediate attention."

* * *

She woke up to a familiar face - _Elloril_ , she quickly realised with relief - face peering down at her.

"You're awake!" the woman gasped, immediately jumping off the bed she had been leaning over to give a quick bow. It was the most frantic action she'd ever seen from her; poised, careful Elloril, nearly bursting from the seams with nervous energy. Despite her unusual behaviour, the bow, as annoying as it was, was a familiar action to her. No matter how many times Clare protested against her doing that, she never failed to do so. Some old habits die hard, she supposed.

A stinging headache, clashing and spearing at her temples, quickly brought her back to reality. "I feel like crap," she grumbled, bringing her hand up to her forehead. She felt... warm.

Elloril nodded vigorously, another strange thing to see from the woman, her head bobbing up and down almost comically. "Drink this, drink this," she insisted, pushing a vial with some kind of red liquid into her hands.

She sloshed it around, inspecting it closely. Her mind still seemed to not entirely be there, as her first assumption was that it was wine. Yet she quickly noticed it looked thicker than a normal, drinkable liquid, which only said one thing to her. "Please tell me this isn't blood," she moaned, feeling sick at the thought. Another sharp pain in her temples accentuated her words. 

Apparently, Elloril shared her thoughts, as her face turned into one of horror at her words. A familiar expression, Clare mused to herself. "No, my lady, it's only a healing potion! Master Elias instructed me to have you drink it when you wake up," she explained quickly, the words frantic. What exactly had her so panicked? She knew Elloril to be a nervous woman, but she usually hid herself well. Right now, she wasn't even trying to conceal how she was feeling - which seemed to be a mixture of frightened, uneasiness and impatience.

"Dammit," she grumbled, considering not drinking it, but obeyed nonetheless. Giving it a quick whiff - it smelled strangely bitter - she downed the contents in one go, coughing as she felt the liquid rush down her throat. Almost immediately, a strange warmth spread throughout her body, slowly focusing to her head - and just like that, her headache lifted.

And with it, her memories returned.

The woman. The knife. Her words.

_Voss._

Voss had saved her; knocked that woman out with the base of his sword before she could do anything else. She remembered now, could feel the fresh bruises along her chest and throat. Could still feel the foot constricting air from her lungs. Could still hear the accusations she had spat out at her - the accusations that weren't accusations at all, but rather statements of facts. 

Everything came back to her in such a rush, it almost rendered the healing potion's - she was certainly going to investigate how to make _those_ later - effects for naught. It wasn't long before she was almost hyperventilating, her breaths coming out ragged and quick - too quick. "Is Voss alright?" she managed to gasp out. "That woman- oh god, is she okay? What's going to happen to her? How long have I been asleep?"

The thoughts and questions clattered against each other in her head, fragments of what had transpired only hours ago forcing themselves at the front of her mind. She felt bile rise in her throat, felt her hands begin to clam as she remembered the blood on that woman's clothes, the crazed look in her eyes that she could only guess had derived from hours of torture; real, true _torture_. What had Elias _done_ to her?

"Voss is fine, my lady," Elloril patiently answered. "You have been asleep for around... five hours, I would say. The woman who attacked you has yet to wake up, and is residing in the dungeons."

"Oh god," Clare moaned, leaning down to put her head in her hands. The dungeons. Of course Elias had dungeons. She had been here for how long, and didn't even know such a thing existed here. Just what else was Elias hiding from her?

Sensing her internal peril, Elloril spoke up once more. "My lady…" she began, looking unsure. Glancing up to meet her friend's gaze, she immediately took notice of the expression she wore. She was wearing the same face she always wore when she was about to explain something she knew Clare wouldn't like to hear. Her lips pressed into a thin line at the discernment, preparing herself for whatever she was about to say next. "You must understand, things are done differently here. _Punishments_ are done differently here."

Not even a lifetime of preparation could have prepared her for that. As soon as she comprehended the words, the implication, she felt her blood run cold, felt her heart stop beating. No, she didn't like what she was hearing at all. Didn't like what her words suggested at all. "What's going to happen to that woman, Elloril?" she demanded, suddenly very, very afraid.

She expected an immediate explanation, like Elloril usually did when she asked for an explanation on something, but she only shook her head. Clare was certain it was the first time she had actually denied her something - she felt a brief sense of pride overtake the raging emotions coiling in her gut for just a moment. "It is not something a lady's ears should hear. I... only ask you prepare yourself," she answered.

 _That_ wasn't the answer she was looking for. "What the hell is going to happen to her?!" Clare burst out, "She said she'd been tortured, for god's sake! Tortured!"

Elloril only shook her head further, remaining stubborn. Another flare of pride prickled in her chest. "She knew the consequences of her actions. Now she must live with them," she reasoned. Noticing her words had done absolutely nothing to placate the woman, she quickly tried to backtrack. "Please, my lady, calm yourself!"

Her words, for all their good intentions, did nothing of the sort. "No way in hell is that woman going to die or get tortured because of me," Clare hissed, standing up. Decision foolishly made, she made way for the door, yelling over her shoulder, "I'm going to Elias!"

"No, my lady, please, wait-" She, of course, didn't listen as she strode purposefully to the door, pulling it open and rushing out. She wobbled on her feet for a moment, but it did little to stop her. Not when someone's life was on the line.

She didn't make it far. Five steps, actually, before she rounded a corner and slammed right into someone else.

"Jesus Christ!" she shouted in surprise, the words flying from her mouth before she could stop them, taking several steps back to appraise just who she had just run into.  _Please don't be Elias_ , she silently begged. Crashing into him wasn't how she wanted the beginning of this conversation to go. Hell, she hadn't even thought about what exactly she was going to say yet. Who she saw instead gave her a multitude of relief. Honeycomb eyes, dark skin accentuated by seasons of freckles, and the smell of pine meant one thing - one thing she took extreme comfort in finding. "Voss! Thank god you're alright!"

The man in question rose his eyebrows at her sudden exclamation, seemingly surprised at her appearance. He looked… different, somehow. Similar to Elloril. So he knew too, then. "Why are you-" he started, but quickly cut himself off with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter. Come," he instructed, reaching down to grip her wrist and drag her back to her room. Usually, the estranged bodyguard avoided ever touching her, so the feeling of callouses rubbing along her wrist as he forcefully pulled her with him back to her room was an action that, to her, rose eyebrows. "What the hell, Voss!" she exclaimed without much bite to her words - no, it was more surprise than any kind of negative emotion; she couldn't fashion any kind of negativity to him or Elloril - trying fruitlessly to wretch her hand from his grasp, almost as an involuntary reaction. No such luck. "I need to speak to Elias, I need to tell him not to do anything to that woman-"

She never got to finish as he pulled her into her room, nodding to Elloril as he crossed her path. The woman looked just as shocked as she felt. Closing the door quickly behind him, he turned to her, and for the first time since she'd met him, she truly saw him. She saw vulnerability, strength, and fear. She saw a man with the weight of another's greed on his shoulders. She saw a man who was _afraid._

It made her more frightened than she cared to ever tell. 

"Listen to me," he instructed forcefully, and it was the first time she'd heard such emotion in his voice - similar as she had with Elloril, she felt a sense of pride as he spoke so forcefully to her for the first time. But it was quickly rendered to nothingness at his next words. "Elias is calling everyone in the estate to the grounds right now. He is going to make an example of this woman."

 _No._  She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "Listen to me, Clare." It was the first time he'd ever said her name, she realised. No more _my lady_. Right now, in this moment, he was not talking to someone he saw as his superior, but someone who he believed needed warning and preparation for just what was about to come. "You cannot do anything about this. He is making everyone watch. You cannot do anything. Do you understand? Do not interfere with what is about to happen."

 _This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening_. She looked to Elloril for some kind of help, but only saw resignation on the woman's face. She felt absolutely sick. _This is what had her so panicked,_ she realised. She was going to have to watch this happen. They all were.  " _He can't_ ," she begged, not knowing who exactly she was begging to. "Please, she did nothing wrong-"

"She was going to kill you, Clare," Elloril gently interrupted. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No, it doesn't!" she yelled, distraught. "She was just trying to escape. She had been tortured! She didn't do anything wrong!"

And it was in that moment, the elvish woman, the woman she once knew as timid and nervous, afraid to wish for things like freedom and individuality, snapped

"Listen to me, Clare!" the woman suddenly burst, standing forward to grip her shoulders. "This is going to happen, and there is nothing any of us can do about it. This is how things are done.  _You must accept that._ "

She had no words; it was the first time she'd ever heard the gentle elvish woman raise her voice.

"Why?" she asked, desperate for answers. "Why is he going to hurt her?"

She didn't understand. Didn't understand the brutality of this world, the utter cruelty of it. They had kidnapped this woman, taken her from her home, and were now going to punish her for trying to escape. This was the kind of thing people like her read about in storybooks about dystopian worlds, the kind of thing you took comfort in because you would never have to experience such harsh realities. And now, here she was, unable to believe what she was hearing, unable to believe such a reality was unfolding right before her.

The two elves glanced to each other, almost unsure how to proceed. She realised they didn't have an answer - it was just something they'd come to accept.

"Because this woman hurt you, his apprentice," Elloril answered gently, slowly, as though it were her first time truly registering the words. "To hurt you is to hurt Elias himself. If he allows her to go unpunished, he is inviting people to rebel against him. He can't have that; not in his own estate."

"It is to remind us, even you, who we all belong to. Who is in power here," Voss elaborated, voice gentle. In the back of her mind, she registered that she had never heard him so forlorn before. She wasn't sure she'd _ever_ heard him sound forlorn, truth be told. The most tragic and brutal of situations truly brought out a side of people they never allowed to be seen, she understood. " _We are beneath him._  Even you are. He is in control. He doesn't do it to be cruel, but to show authority. It might seem cruel to you, but this is the way of Tevinter. You have to understand this, Clare, or it will only be a matter of time before you take this woman's place."

She felt bile rise in her throat.

_This can't be happening, this isn't real, please just let me go home, oh god -_

_I have nothing left,_ was her staggering thought. No arguments, no angry rants, no scathing words. She felt empty. She didn't want to believe what was about to happen. But she knew, deep down, the two people that stood in front of her were right. She could kick, scream and cry, but Elias cared little for her opinions. He would do whatever he wanted, whether she liked it or not.

"We have no time. We have to go," Voss said suddenly, his voice almost gentle. "Are you ready?"

She looked to the two elves. She saw so many emotions raging in their eyes, honeycomb and hazel, and she only wishes she could have seen them like this, so alive, so free to feel, without the cost of another's life.

 _S_ he nodded her head mutely, nothing else left to give.

"Good," he replied, casting a glance at Elloril. "Then let us go." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, so sorry for the wait! i just didn't know how to write this chapter, but i finally managed to get it out. next chapter, things get real ;0000 big thanks to everyone who has given feedbacks, it means a lot!


	6. Backbone of Prayer

She remembers the first time she realised she wanted to be a nurse.

She had, once upon a time, joined a surf lifesaving club at her mother’s insistence; an easy sport, something for her to brag about at the country club.  _ My adorable, cute little Clare, spending every Sunday at the local beach learning how to save lives,  _ she distantly remembers her mother telling anyone who would listen proudly. She’d done it for a long time, the addition to her routine a welcome one. It was after her first year she’d learned how to do CPR, and gotten her First Aid certificate. At the youthful age of thirteen, she’d never put much thought into it, because when would she  _ ever  _ need CPR?

As it turns out, four years later was when she would need it.

It had been a clear day during the summer holidays, and Clare had been invited to go out with a friend’s family for the day on their boat. Lacy had been a rather well off girl, someone Clare’s mother approved of greatly if only for that small detail. She remembers the excitement, the exhilaration, laughing with Lacy as the wind tousled their hair, the salty air filling their lungs as the boat sped along the sea’s waters. 

Then, Max, her little brother of only seven years, had fallen overboard. 

They had, before going on the boat, put on their sunscreen and lifejackets at the parent’s insistence. Max, like any other child his age, had fought tooth and nail at that, insisting the sunscreen felt strange on his skin and that the lifejacket was too itchy. But Lacy’s parents refused to hear any of it, rather sensibly. Max, of course, never gave up so easily, and had slipped the lifejacket off while his parents hadn’t been watching, remaining at the back of the boat out of their line of sight.

She remembers the exact moment he slipped off the boat; they had just hit a wave, enough to jostle and throw them up quite a bit. Lacy’s mother had looked over her shoulder to check if Max was alright a while after, only to begin screaming in fright when she saw his lifejacket and not him. Her husband had forced the boat around so quickly that she and Lacy had toppled over one another at the sudden movement. They had spotted Max a short distance away, floating motionless in the water, Lacy’s mother crying hysterically at the sight. It was as her father pulled him back onto the boat, tears streaming down his cheeks as he gasped out he didn’t know CPR -  _ he didn’t know CPR Gwen, I don’t know CPR Gwen, what do I _ **_do_ ** _ Gwen _ \- that she remembered herself.

She remembers her body going into autopilot mode, pushing the frantic parents aside, managing to gasp out that she knew CPR when their mother had screamed at her for trying to pull her away from her very possibly dying child. Hands placed at his sternum, she began pushing in a rhythm, reciting the lyrics of  _ Stayin’ Alive  _ in her head just as she was taught.  _ Thirty compressions, then two rescue breaths _ , _ with enough force to potentially break ribs, _ she recalls.

His stuttering breath after her second breath was, by far, the most relieving moment of her life.

Their parents had been outright hysterical - she would be too if her son had almost drowned, she supposed - and so had Lacy, throwing her arms around Clare as she thanked her, crying tears of joy. Her parents had turned to her then, thanking her over and over for their son’s life, and that they would never forget this.

It had been the first moment in her life where she felt she had done something worthwhile.

Yet despite that, it had still been a rather strange moment for her. She’d been posted in the local newspaper for her actions, been hailed a hero at her high school, and had even been in her parents’ good books for a while. She was frequently invited to Lacy’s home after that, even when everything had calmed down. 

It was during her final year of high school that she had been having dinner at Lacy’s household, who she now considered nothing short of a second family, discussing what exactly they were going to do after graduation. Lacy, unsurprisingly, was set to go to college in order to take over her family’s business one day. Clare, however, had no such plans. In fact, she had no plan at all. Lacy’s family had been shocked when Clare admitted so, and had quickly supplied off a list of occupations they thought would suit her.

“What about medicine?” Lacy’s father had laughed, a hint of seriousness in his voice. “You’ve already saved one life, after all,” he continued, nudging Max,  _ healthy and alive Max _ , good-naturedly in the ribs. 

That conversation had stayed with her for a long time. She’d never really considered it before; she’d always supposed she would get a job in an office somewhere and stick with that. It was what her parents expected of her; her mother being a secretary before marrying and her father working in an office himself. 

But medicine. Working to save lives.

She liked the thought.

And so, that’s what she did. That’s what she would do with her life; help save lives. Not quite intelligent or driven enough to become a doctor, but unwilling to give up nonetheless, she settled upon nursing, finding an unexpected passion in it. 

That was what she wanted to do with her life, she had long ago decided.

She wants to laugh at her own hypocrisy now. 

* * *

There was a hush about the manor as Voss and Elloril escorted her to the courtyard, the two positioned on each side of her, as though they expected her to try to escape. There were no guards stationed at the doors as they walked along the corridor, no slaves scurrying past, going about their daily business with their heads down. Even the familiar chirping of the birds and clicking of cicadas was absent. It was as though every living being within the manor had universally acknowledged what was about to happen, and had nothing to say about it.

She didn’t register how the clicking of her shoes against the marble floor stopped, only to be replaced with the muted sound of walking on grass. She didn’t register the assembled people she was walking towards - slaves and guards alike. She didn’t register the wooden pole that they stood around. All she could register is a small, tiny voice in her head, that was growing louder and louder with each passing second.

_ This is wrong, this is so wrong, I’m scared, please just let me go home, this is a nightmare- _

“Ah, Clare, there you are.”

And then, she _ did  _ register it. Everything, all at once.

She saw them, the people she had come to know over the weeks, guards and slaves alike. Saw how the guards kept their heads high, eyes like steel despite the hollowness that lurked beneath. Saw the submission and fear of the slaves, saw how they kept their heads bowed, as though simply looking up was all it would take to be the next victim. She saw the wooden pole they all surrounded, saw the dried blood no one had bothered to clean off.

She saw Elias, standing before her, a firm and unyieldingly hardened expression on his face.

“I am sorry this had to happen now, of all times, my dear,” he said, his voice almost apologetic, gentle. As though this were a mere inconvenience to her. “Nasty business, this is. I had hoped to keep this away from you, but it has to be done,” he continued. “You understand, do you not?”

She couldn’t breathe.

No, she didn’t understand at all. Not in the slightest. But she didn’t have time to wallow in her own ignorance, not when she felt Voss’ eyes on her, felt Elias’ too, both waiting for her to speak against him for very different reasons. 

She felt the veiled threat to his words. She felt it creep under her skin, scratching and itching and hurting and _ promising _ . She felt so many things at once she wasn’t sure she was capable of keeping herself from bursting at the very seams. 

As much as she tried, she couldn’t manage to plaster a fake smile on like she had so many times before when she had to lie to him. She couldn’t manage a lot of things right now, least of all that. No, all she could do was whisper a small, defeated, utterly  _ pathetic, _ “I understand, sir.”

And just like that, she felt herself crumble.

_ Look at you, losing all your morals because you feel threatened, _ something sinister and angry whispered in her ear.  _ You’re no better than your parents.  _

She didn’t need to look up to see the expression of something akin to triumph on Elias’ face.

_ I hate him,  _ she realised with sudden clarity. _ I hate him, I hate him, I hate him,  _ **_I hate him -_ **

“I am glad we have an understanding. Please, take your place with the others,” he replied quietly, gesturing to a place amongst the assembled guards and slaves where Elloril and Voss stood, a vacant spot obviously made for her. She could scarcely force her legs to move, not when that tone of pride in his voice gripped her insides, burning hot and angry. But she did,  _ had to, _ when Elias yelled out, “Bring the elf!”

No one, least of all the slaves, dared to look in the direction of the estate’s doors opening once more, two guards stepping out as they carried the willowy arms of  _ her _ , hair a matted mess and covered in bruises and open wounds, all purple and red and black -

She watched, the air in her lungs suddenly tasting like poison, the grass beneath her feet feeling like burning coals, as the guards forced her front against the wooden post, forcefully bringing her arms up, none too gently, to tie her wrists to it. When they finished, they stepped back, the woman slumping down in defeat, too exhausted to even hold herself up. From Clare’s position amongst the others, she couldn’t see her face, couldn’t look upon the eyes of the woman she had indirectly sent to an early grave.

“The crime committed here today is a grave one,” Elias began, eyes scanning across the small crowd gathered. “I generously brought in this woman, scavenging in the wild, to give her a better life amongst us. She repaid my kindness by attempting to kill my apprentice,” he continued, his words that painted him as a messiah making her want to vomit. “The punishment for such treachery is death.”

No one even looked remotely surprised at his words, ruthless and malevolent as they were. Not even the woman who his words were so scornfully directed towards stirred at his false proclamations, at his announcement of her fate - instead, she remained hunched and impassive, her only movement a small trickle of blood that slowly made its way down her right arm. 

_ This is hell,  _ Clare tried to reason to herself. _ I died in that explosion and I’m in hell. _

She had to be, otherwise what kind of reality was she living in?

“Strip her,” Elias commanded, his words stirring confusion in Clare’s gut amongst her overwhelming anguish. What would the purpose of stripping her be, she briefly wondered. To humiliate her further? 

She didn’t have to question for very long as a guard, young and trembling at his knees, stepped forward when another nudged him forth, hands reaching for the end of the woman’s tunic and tearing them open with a vicious rip. It didn’t take much effort on his part; the pathetic excuse for clothing already having several large tears in them where her cuts, some that Clare noticed were already infected, bled freely. She did not flinch at the sudden contact, at the inevitable, biting cold she would feel on her wounds as they were exposed to the chilly afternoon air. 

This was not the woman Clare had seen when they first met, fierce and angry and determined. This was not the woman that had tried to kill her; angry and desperate for retribution. No, this woman who bled before her was broken, a shell of what Clare had so briefly managed to glimpse at.

She felt an hand grip her wrist, and it was only then that she realised she had tried to take a step forward.

_ Don’t, _ Voss’ lips moved to mouth at her.

She almost didn’t obey.

Almost.

But like the coward she was, she forced her tears back in and stepped back into line, where they all watched with varying faces of muted acceptance and terror.

When Voss had first told her what the fate of this woman would be, she didn’t want to think about how exactly Elias would kill her. She assumed it would be a quick death, perhaps a beheading or a public hanging - people had watched those in the past, after all. 

Now, as she watched a slave step forward and hand Elias a whip, its tipped jagged with what looked like _ claws _ sewn into the leather, she could see what a fool she had been for considering that he would allow her such a mercy.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Close your eyes, my lady,” Elloril whispered beside her.

She didn’t.

Instead, she watched as Elias held his arm back and reeled in forward in one quick, cruel motion.

The crack of the whip against the woman’s back sent the birds from the trees flying. Even the animals were unwilling to watch the scene unfold before them, she thought without a trace of amusement. The claws sunk mercilessly into her back, tearing her flesh as Elias reeled the whip back to him. A few slaves made an almost strangled gasp at the sight, while some soldiers simply flinched. 

Yet the victim of Elias’ cruel work did not utter a sound.

Even after the second whip, she did not made a noise. Not a gasp, not a whimper, not a yelp.

Even after the third, she did not.

Even after the fourth, she did not.

After the fifth, Elias was clearly displeased. His movements became forceful, angry, desperate for a sign of something -

Clare couldn’t see the skin on her back anymore.

But after the seventh, her resolve broke. But she did not make noises of pain.

She  _ prayed. _

“O Falon’din,” she managed, her voice only a hoarse whisper, “Lethanavir, Friend to the Dead -” another whip, yet all she let out was a strangled grunt, “- Guide my feet-”

“Silence, rabbit,” Elias hissed, resent, hot and furious and so  _ cruel _ , clear as day in his eyes.

“Calm my soul,” she gasped out. Clare could hear the tears in her voice. She reached out, blindly, searching for something, anything -

She felt Elloril’s fingertips graze her own, and they interlocked fingers. 

Elias’ face went red, the first time Clare had ever seen him flustered, and something she could have sworn was madness creep into his expression. _ “Be quiet!”  _ he boomed, putting all his strength into his next movement.

The crack of the whip did not silence her.

“Lead me to my rest,” she whispered, her prayer finished.

And then, nothing.

Silence spread throughout the courtyard, the feeling of Elloril’s warm fingers squeezing her own the only thing keeping her rooted to the earth. She couldn’t feel anything else, could only stare at the torn open back before her, skin mercilessly peeled back by the bladed whip to reveal bits and pieces of muscle, the rest concealed by ruined flesh, blood freely dripping from the open wound. 

Not even bile could rise up in her throat at the horrid sight. She was frozen, shaken to the core, mourning for a woman she didn’t even know; whose death she was partly responsible for.

And yet despite this, Elias did not allow them even a moment to process it all.

“May this be your first and final warning,” he said, the threat hanging in the air as thickly as the stench of blood. “Disobedience will not be tolerated.”

Elloril’s fingers shook against her own, to which Clare could only manage to gave her hand a comforting squeeze.  _ I won’t let that be you, _ she tried to convey.

She squeezed her hand back.

Elias’ eyes gazed over the crowd assembled before him, seemingly pleased at the differing levels of fear across all their faces. “You are all dismissed,” he ordered, casting the whip to a nearby soldier carelessly as he turned and walked back into the estate, two soldiers loyally trailing behind him. 

For a long moment, no one moved. They all stood there, connected to one another through what they had all just witnessed.

It didn’t last.

The soldiers were the first to go, slowly dissipating one by one. Then, with a final glance at the dead body before then, the slaves went, leaving in pairs or small groups. 

Then, only she remained.

She stood there and stared. Didn’t move, didn’t blink. Her ears were ringing, something was buzzing in her head.  _ You could have done something, why didn’t you do anything, why didn’t you help her - _

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Clare,” Elloril gently whispered, her hand shaking her shoulder, “Let us leave.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she walked forward, eyes remaining firm on the deceased woman before them, gently prying off Elloril’s fingers on her arm. As she got closer, she noticed that flies were already starting to swarm around the open wounds, to which she angrily shooed away.

Those thoughts, buzzing and angry and vengeful, only grew louder as she approached.  _ You could have done something, why didn’t you do anything, why didn’t you help her - _

And yet, with some clarity, she told herself,  _ you can do something. _

“I can fix it,” she murmured, voice empty, her hands hovering over the slumped body. “I- I can heal it.”

She forced the magic forward, forced it upon the woman’s body, urging it to do something. But it didn’t. Her skin remained broken, her body still bled. No matter how much she pushed, no matter how much she tried, nothing would _ happen _ .

“Why?” she gasped out, and it was only then she realised she was crying. “Why won’t you work?!”

She urged herself closer, fingers gently pressing against the open wounds, frantically forcing her magic upon it, but nothing. She stared at her own fingers, now coated in this woman’s blood, so useless and disgusting and -

“My lady-”

_ “I can fix it!”  _ she yelled, desperate, her tears blurring her vision. But she didn’t let it stop her as she pushed her magic further, trying for something, anything,  _ please -  _

“Clare,” someone - Voss, she realised - said, grasping her wrists and pulling them away, his movements gentle - more gentle than she deserved. “She’s dead. There’s nothing you can do.”

_ She’s dead. There’s nothing you can do. _

_ Dead. _

_ Nothing you can do. _

_ Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead- _

In the back of her mind, she registered someone gagging, only to realise it was herself as firm hands directed her numbed body to the side where she unceremoniously emptied her stomach contents, gasping and heaving as her tears, still free falling from her now blotchy face, began to mix in with the mess of green and yellow chunks. She coughed, her breathing rough and uneven as she retched once more, yet nothing came.

She couldn’t bring herself to feel repulsed by what she had just done, staring at her own puke with an almost impassive expression. No longer could she feel the blood on her hands, smell the sour odor of flesh and vomit that once suffocated her, hear the flies buzzing around her, vengeful that she had interrupted their fresh meal. 

She felt nothing but a disconnect from her own body.

“-are? Clare?” A voice asked, gentle and feminine and  _ Elloril _ , hands reaching to sweep her hair from her face. “Please, my lady. There was nothing any of us could have done.”

_ Where was the comfort in that? _

She closed her eyes, searching for something. What could she possibly say to herself to make this better? Why should she try to make this better? She had just witnessed a murder, plain and simple, and had done nothing to stop it.

_ But still. _

“He didn’t break her,” she whispered, “She didn’t stop when he told her to stop praying. She died a free woman.”

There was a short silence. Then, “She was a free woman until the very end, my lady.” 

It was a small comfort.

_ But still. _

“We should go, my lady,” Voss gently pushed. “No one should see you like this.”

She briefly registers him kneeling down next to her to grasp her forearm and pull her back up to her feet, guiding her back to the estate. As her feet meet the marble floor once more, she casts a final glance at the woman whose name she did not know, who died free and braver than Clare could ever be. 

_ There was nothing any of us could have done, _ Elloril’s gentle voice echoes in her mind.

_ But still. _

* * *

Time, Clare quickly learnt, was not swayed by grief and turmoil.

As she laid in her bed staring at the canopy, waiting for answers that would not come, time passed. As she continued her lessons with Elias, her only fuel her own hate for the very man who taught her, time passed. As she stared at the decomposing body of the nameless woman who no one dared approached to even bury, time passed. As she stared at the landscape beyond the bars that entrapped them all to Elias’ estate, time passed.

And with that time, she grew vengeful.

“Dodge, Clare, you must remember to dodge! Your shields do not make you invincible,” Elias sighed, exasperated and clearly annoyed.

_ Oh, I’ll give you something to dodge, _ she thought, huffing angrily. Days had passed after  _ the incident _ with little disturbance, and Clare had spent most of her time sparring with Elias’ guards while he looked on from the sidelines. He’d demanded that his soldiers not go easy on her, and she had bruises and scrapes to show for it. The first day of sparring, she’d managed to break her nose after getting a particularly nasty hit to the face, which she’d spent over an hour resetting and healing. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, and it made her concentrate all the more afterwards, which she was sure what Elias’ intention had been. Pain was a hell of a motivator, it seemed. 

She stared at the guard she was fighting today; Elias always had a different one for her each time. Today’s victim was a man with scruffy blonde hair and squinting eyes with bulging muscles, accentuated with a few jagged scars to show he meant business. In the back of her mind, Clare briefly wondered what she’d done to piss Elias off enough to have her fight a blonde Arnold Schwarzenegger.

She didn’t have time to deliberate Elias’ motivation, however; not when he was advancing on her once more, wooden practice blade raised and ready to strike. She barely managed to dodge his hit as she scrambled to the side, throwing a pathetic excuse of a fireball his way. It missed him, instead grazing a nearby tree which Elias, with a quick flick of his staff, quickly handled. She made a small sound at the back of her throat as the guard swung his blade once more, too quickly for her to dodge, hitting her square in the stomach. The impact forced the air out of her lungs, coughing pathetically as he began to advance on her once more. She grasped her staff and tried for something, anything, but she wasn’t fast enough. He delivered a swift blow to her leg, forcing her to the ground and losing her concentration.

“Fuck!” she swore, her knees grazing the ground harshly. 

From behind her, Elias tutted. “Language, my dear.”

His words, condescending and uncaring, only made her growl and force a sneer upon her features. She surged forward on her hands and knees, reaching for her staff. Her opponent swung his leg forward to kick her arm away, but he’d been too late. Gripping the lifeline of wood and magic in her hands, she turned on her side and swung it with all the force she could muster, both physical and magic.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she did. She just remembered feeling blind rage, that god-awful rage that had festered inside her like an infection, and swinging her staff at the man. Its tip grazed his side, the magic burning his skin and burrowing its way deep inside. He dropped to the ground, a scream at his lips, which he silenced with a gasp as he clutched the wound.

Clare was quick to force herself up despite the exhaustion and bruises wearing at her, hurrying to his side to assert the damage he’d done. But before she could take so much as a few steps, Elias’ voice interrupted. “Don’t, Clare. There is no room for mercy on the battlefield,” he hissed with a click of his fingers, eyes glancing towards a pair of guards that he had stationed to the side. “Take him away.”

The pair raced to the scene, grasping him by his forearms and dragging him away, around a corner and out of her vision. She resisted the urge to run after him, apologise, offer to heal his wounds. Doing so would only merit a punishment for herself and him.

_ I sound like Voss,  _ she thought with a snort, rubbing her neck. Her body ached, and there was nothing more she wanted than to fall into a fitful sleep in that moment.

Elias seemed to sense her exhaustion, giving her an appraising smile. “You did well today, my dear,” he said, eyes drifting over to Voss before she could even respond. “You, escort your mistress back to her chambers. Have her dinner taken to her chambers tonight, she needs the rest.”

Clare felt her eyes widen at his words. It was a generous move on his part; one she didn’t expect from him. “Sir?”

“You have been working hard, my dear. You deserve a reward,” he simply said, seeming to glean what she was about to ask. He smiled at her once more, baring his teeth more like a wolf than a human being. “Rest well, my dear. We have such important business to attend to tomorrow,” he continued, with a meaningful pause. “You will be going home soon.”

With that, he turned on his heel with a flurry of his robes, walking away back to the estate.

Clare remained rooted to the ground for a few moments, deliberating his words. She’d be going home soon, he’d said. She definitely hadn’t expected that, not when he hadn’t even indicated he’d come anywhere in his research recently.

“Clare,” Voss said gently, pulling her out of her reverie. “Shall we go?”

She cleared her throat, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Yeah, sorry,” she replied, following him back to the estate’s looming doors and beyond.

* * *

_ She barely even remembered getting to her room and passing out on her bed, but here she was. The world around her had a strange green tinge to it, and felt far too real to be any normal kind of dream; Clare knew almost immediately she was in the Fade for the first time in… well, weeks. What surprised her even more was that this realization comforted her. _

_ This time, she was in the courtyard. A gentle breeze brushed past the tree’s leaves, tousling her hair, yet she couldn’t feel a thing. She drew her toes into the dirt, the sensation of grass against her feet never coming. She breathed through her nose, yet could not feel the air reach her lungs. _

_ For some reason, this all comforted her. _

_ “Guilt is a strange thing,” a voice - her voice - said from behind her. She almost jumped at its sudden appearance, but remained still. She had expected this, sooner or later - its presence here, in this place. “It eats us alive until we wish we could not feel a thing.” _

_ Clare clenched her jaw, eyes remaining on the sky, where a flock of birds flew overhead. “I should have done something.” _

_ She could almost feel the being tilt its head at her, pondering her words. “Perhaps,” it replied. “But your slaves were right to stop you.” _

_ The words struck her like a physical blow - more, one particular word did. She turned to face it, so quick that she should have felt whiplash when her braid hit her face. “They’re not slaves, they’re my friends,” she hissed, fists clenched at her side. _

_ It was easier to make its frame out, this time. There was a definite feminine quality to her, the green hues that made up her body coming together to form sharp edges and lines to show her someone. It was as though she were trying to look through a green-hued, fogged window at someone. _

_ “They are your slaves before they are your friends,” it - she, Clare decided. She would call it she - replied sardonically. “They are not truly free, and we both know it as such.” _

_ She didn’t want to admit she was right. “They should be.” _

_ The being only hummed. “Yet you do nothing to help them. To truly help them. Why?” it asked, slowly approaching her. _

_ Clare swallowed. It felt like her most self-deprecating thoughts were coming back to her. “I… I can’t.” _

_ “Hm?” it replied, floating around her. She felt dizzy. “Tell me the truth. I want to hear you say it.” _

_ Clare’s throat closed up at her admission. “I…” she closed her eyes, squeezing them shut. “They don’t want my help. Besides, I… I can’t risk upsetting Elias. He’s my only hope of sending me home.” _

_ “And there,” it sighed, finally coming to stop in front of her, “is the truth.” _

_ Clare could only sag in shame. _

_ “Listen to me, girl,” it said, voice commanding yet soothing all at once. An odd combination to hear after being with Elias after all this time. “The only one who can send you home is me, and me only. You truly think the magister will help you, send you home?” _

_ It felt like a punch in the gut, hearing her say that. She’d suspected, of course. She’d been here for weeks now, and yet Elias still refused to provide no admission on how he was going to send her home, only dangling it above her head when she became too restless. Yet he’d made it abundantly clear she had no hope finding help elsewhere - not when she didn’t even know where the nearest civilisation was. _

_ But hearing this being in front of her admit that she was the key to getting her home? That was new. _

_ “Then why haven’t you?!” Clare demanded, suddenly growing angry. “I’ve been here for weeks, jumping hoops for Elias! Training every day for magic I won’t need when I get out of here! Send me home!” _

_ There was a brief pause between the two. Surprisingly enough, the woman didn’t seem disturbed by her brief outburst; as though she had expected it. “Because you are here for a reason, and the magister served a purpose,” it replied. “He was correct about one thing: you would not have survived out in Thedas by yourself. But you are stronger, more aware of this world now. You are ready.” _

_ “Stop talking to me like we’re in Star Wars, for god’s sake! What am I ready for? Are you telling me you kept me here on purpose?” _

_ Despite not quite having a face, Clare could feel the approval roll off the woman in waves. “Yes. I did. And now, it is time for us to go.” _

_ “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Clare asked, scrunching up her nose. “Are you telling me to escape?” _

_ “I am,” it replied. “The magister has been using you for a purpose, for a plan - and that plan is about to reach its fruition. He is in fool; he can see her anger, your want to escape. And he is going to act upon it in a way you cannot fathom. You must escape, or face the consequences of becoming the very thing you hate the most about this world.” _

_ She felt herself go very, very cold. “He’s going to make me -” _

_ The world shook around her before she could reply, cracks of something spilling through the sky. “We are out of time,” the being replied, backing away from her. “Escape at all costs. Follow the path laid before you.” _

_ She was fading, too quick, too fast - she needed answers, she needed something - “Wait!” she called. For some reason, only one question came to mind. “What’s your name?!” _

_ Amongst the sharp outlines of green smoke, she could make out a mirthless smile. _

_ “Call me the Hearthkeeper.” _

* * *

She awoke to green eyes.

“You’re awake!” Elloril gasped, stepping off her bed away from her. “My lady, you had me so worried! I tried calling your name to wake you, which always works, but you would not stir, so I tried shaking you, but nothing! I had thought you were-”   
“Elloril,” Clare interrupted, turning to her, eyes determined and prepared.  _ Now is the time,  _ her voice whispered in the back of her mind.  _ You know what you must do. _

“I’m going to run away tonight, and I want you and Voss to come with me.”


End file.
